All That Mullarkey

by Sue Moorcroft

  Waiting to give their order at the bar, he turned sideways so that he could watch her but glide his eyes away quickly if she turned and caught him. She looked great. It felt great to be with her again. His heart felt light for the first time in weeks. He missed her and it had been a masterstroke to use an excuse about paperwork of hers he’d found in his things to suggest meeting for lunch on a working day. It was just like old times; he could almost kid himself that there was no Shona and no separation. As if they’d just made time for each other in a busy day, like they used to, and he’d be going home to her tonight.

  He returned to the table with two glasses of wine. ‘So what’s new?’ He kind of meant, ‘What’s new at work?’ because that’s what she used to tell him about, indignant about all the planning she’d done for XYZ Co. only to have them hum and haver and change the brief. In those days, of course, he already knew just about everything else that happened in her life, except, maybe, what she and Liza found to giggle about. And, it turned out, her lover.

  What he didn’t want to hear about was her eventful Saturday, deciding to buy a house and letting that bastard-bastard stay over.

  ‘Hasn’t he got a home of his own?’ Look at that, he’d drunk half his wine in a slurp.

  A frown settled over her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t believe what’s happening to him. He’s become the victim of some lunatic’s hate campaign! Taxis and pizzas turn up at all times so he can’t sleep, people answering adverts he never placed. It’s a nightmare.’

  What a pity, what an awful list of awful things. ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer chap,’ he said, mock-pleasantly.

  Slowly, she sipped her wine. ‘I suppose this is where I ask how Lillian is,’ she responded. ‘If you want to get into a pissing match?’

  ‘Haven’t drunk enough yet.’ He grinned. After a moment she grinned back and everything was OK, as long as he didn’t mind listening to endless reflections on how quickly she hoped the house sale would go through and how in the world she was going to afford everything. He hoped she wasn’t leading up to asking for some of their furniture, which he now looked upon as his, set out in his rented house in Bettsbrough. He wouldn’t mind it being theirs again; but he sure as hell didn’t want any of it to be hers.

  He changed the subject. ‘Doing anything interesting this weekend?’

  A young barman brought their sandwiches over and Cleo gave him a smile. ‘I’m going out with Liza on Friday.’

  Liza was a safe topic. She’d talk about Liza until the cows came home. ‘How is she?’

  A laugh. He missed her laugh. Particularly on Sunday mornings when he lay in bed alone and remembered how they used to mock-squabble over the papers, how he’d tickle her or pretend to beat her up to get the interesting pages first. ‘Liza doesn’t change much. Except she’s in lurve with an astonishingly normal bloke called Adam who’s about to move in with her.’

  ‘Sounds like a recipe for disaster.’

  She shrugged, cutting her sandwich into smaller pieces. ‘Don’t see why. He likes drinking and nightclubs so it’s a match made in heaven.’

  The sandwiches were too hot to eat without a lot of blowing and rapid chewing as if getting the scalding mouthful down the gullet was somehow preferable to having it on the tongue. Between scalding bites, he told her about working at Hillson’s and how Keith was having a heavy thing with a married woman. Then, like a bad tooth he was unable to resist probing, he veered back onto the subject of Justin. ‘So, Father of the Year doesn’t mind babysitting on Friday? Even if there’s nothing in it for him?’ He couldn’t stop the heavily sarcastic emphasis in his last few words.

  Her eyes glittered. ‘He babysits because Shona’s his daughter. Of course there’s “nothing in it”.’ She paused. ‘Because I’m seeing someone called Clive.’ She tipped her wrist to look at her watch. ‘I’ll give coffee a miss this time.’

  Heart sinking slowly to his gut, he watched her shrug into her jacket.

  Not even a peck on the cheek. Not even a friendly clasp of hands. He checked the time. One forty five. Loads of time to toddle up the street to Ntrain for a two-fifteen meeting. She had had time for coffee.

  She’d obviously wanted to get away.

  He’d leave it a week or two before he suggested lunch again.

  In fact, Cleo was seeing Clive that evening. A date that had reached its end in her car where condensation was forming on the windows. Clive’s lips, framed by the softness of his beard, snuffled their way up the side of her neck. She tried not to squirm when it tickled, nor be reminded of Ratty’s little dog. A change of course and his mouth reached hers, soft, searching. And he kissed her, slowly, deeply.

  Mmm. Gentle, rather than demanding, but nice. Nice-ish. Not the kind of kisses that made her back tingle, though.

  His arms tightened and he whispered, ‘Coffee?’ He kissed her ear and his hand burrowed inside her jacket. Cleo wasn’t so rusty that she didn’t recognise Clive’s invitation meant a token cup of coffee and ‘this is our fifth date, I’m hoping for a hell of a lot more. I’ve done the hand-holding, it’s about time we had sex.’ Clive’s house was empty and available, Justin would by now be dossed down on her sitting-room floor ready to attend to Shona, and there was absolutely no reason for her to be home until breakfast.

  She thought about sex with Clive as he industriously worked his lips across her forehead and eyes. Clive, whose soft beard and gentle good looks actually hid the mind of a guy who wrote about swinging corpses and mouldy bodies for entertainment. Hmm. Fun for him was sitting in front of his computer, working out the sexual dynamics of an unnatural relationship with a werewolf. Hmm-mm.

  Now what kind of a bedmate might a man like that be? Sensitive? Unlikely. Exciting? Possibly. Imaginative? Ought to be. Hopefully not … y’know, odd.

  She shivered. ‘Sorry. Babysitter.’

  Clive found her lips again with his. ‘Sure?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Kiss. ‘OK.’ Kiss. ‘Will you be all right driving home?’

  ‘I usually am.’

  ‘Sure you can’t stay?’

  ‘Not this time.’

  He stopped kissing her, his expression rueful. ‘You’re really not ready to take this relationship further, are you?’

  She squeezed his hand and withdrew it from inside her jacket. ‘You’re very understanding.’

  A very long kiss. ‘Another time.’ His voice was heavy with promise. Still no tingles.

  Cleo began the fifteen-minute drive home.

  Maybe next time she would go to bed with him. There was nothing to stop her and it might be nice. She’d even got her own supply of condoms for her handbag.

  These days, condoms were essential for all new encounters. Just look at how Gav could have avoided trouble – there would have been no suspicion of unwelcome infection if he’d used condoms for his little adventure with Lillian.

  Everyone ought to be protected by condoms what with AIDS and other nasties, hence the obligation to carry her own, according to Liza. But what if the ones Cleo had bought were the wrong size or shape …? After all, one size certainly didn’t fit all. Imagine the dismay if a lover didn’t fill out the condom she supplied to him. Maybe she should have bought a sort of selection box.

  ‘Pretty bloody complicated,’ she said aloud, as she swung out of Bettsbrough and onto the road to Middledip. ‘Maybe I’ll leave it a bit longer.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  ‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten!’ She stepped back to let Justin in. ‘Shona’s been standing on a chair watching for you – now she’s lurking in the sitting room, punishing you for being late.’ She pushed the sitting-room door open to show Shona, kneeling on the floor, back to the door, studiously hitting a doll with a brush.

  Justin’s grin wiped a layer of strain from his face. ‘I’ll have to sort her out.’

  Shona shot to her feet. ‘No, no!’ She giggled, eyes each a separate sparkle in the curves of her face, and began to edge backwards, ready
to be chased. Her favourite game.

  In the furore of squeals and roars, Cleo stepped into her shoes and slipped into her jacket. During a lull, she managed to be heard. ‘I’ll be on my mobile. I’m going for a drink with Liza.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Sorry everywhere’s such a tip, I’ve been having a spring clean ready to hand the house back. And as quickly as I pack up ready for the move, Shona unpacks it.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  Slowly she put her hand up to unlatch the door. ‘I won’t be late.’

  ‘Fine.’ He pretended to bite at Shona’s fingers when she pinched his nose. Shona yipped in delight and did it again.

  Cleo rested her hand on the door latch. ‘Is everything all right? You seem …’

  He shrugged, as well as he could with Shona on his shoulder, meeting her eyes. ‘The usual. You know.’

  She let her hand drop. ‘What is it this time? A shipping order of Indian food? A three-piece suite from a catalogue?’

  ‘On the way here I was pulled over by the police.’

  She let her head tip to one side. ‘That can’t be anything to do with malicious person unknown, can it?’

  ‘It can if the police have had information that I’m ferrying drugs.’ He tipped Shona slowly off his shoulders and caught her upside down, her rich giggles pouring out like bubbles.

  Cleo slowly shook her head. ‘They’re getting cleverer, aren’t they?’

  ‘’Fraid so. Now I’ve got five days to produce my documents at a police station. Just another hassle. I thought once I’d let my flat I’d be able to see an end to it. But if they’ve got hold of my car registration it gives them another avenue of attack.’

  Cleo moved back into the room. ‘Can you change your car?’

  He turned Shona up the right way, brought her red, giggling face up to his and kissed her little bobble nose. ‘What’s the point? They’d only get the new registration the same way they got this, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Poor old Justin.’ Liza got herself comfortable on the bench seat of the pub and held out a foot to admire her new red ankle boots that were decorated with pompoms and went beautifully with her new black lacy tights. Apart from her white therapy tunic workwear, Liza never wore anything plain or boring, if she could help it. ‘And he normally seems one of the most difficult-to-worry people.’

  Cleo checked that her phone would pick up a signal. ‘I don’t know if he’s worried, exactly, more fed up. The phone calls at all hours of the night were bad enough, and meals and taxis turning up. But the fight at the club was just plain frightening. He could have been knifed or anything. Then the scumbags had the cheek to send an anonymous letter about it to his employer.’

  Liza frowned. ‘Can’t the police do anything?’

  ‘No evidence. The people he’s certain are behind it all have got damned good at it. Very inventive. Now he’s changed his phone number, alerted all the takeaways and arranged to let the flat, they’ve started on his car.’

  ‘Gruesome. I haven’t seen him at Muggie’s for the last couple of weeks, either. Shall we open the crisps? So what about Gav? Seen him lately?’

  Cleo gazed into her crisps. There were so few in a bag these days it was a wonder anyone ever got fat on them. ‘I met him for lunch this week.’

  Liza snorted. ‘What on earth for?’

  Cleo shrugged defensively. ‘Because he asked me. Because he seems a bit lost and I felt sorry for him. You know that I always felt guilty about him.’

  ‘What on earth did you talk about?’

  ‘We sometimes talk about Keith and Ian, Dora and Rhianne. He says things like, “We used to do everything together, three couples, and now we’ve all broken up. Who’d have thought it?” And he usually can’t resist having a dig at Justin.’

  Liza balled up her crisp bag and delicately sucked her fingers, one at a time. Her nail art featured dominoes today. ‘Have you told him about Clive?’

  ‘Sure, but it seems to pass him by. It’s definitely Justin he’s got the hate for.’

  Liza raised her fair eyebrows. ‘And when do I get to give Clive my seal of approval, by the way?’

  ‘You don’t need to, he’s nice. Kind and gentle.’ Somehow it didn’t sound like a commendation.

  ‘I’d like you to be happy with someone again, Cleo. Like I am with my fabulous Adam. Do you ever wonder if you’d met Justin after breaking up with Gav, whether you’d have got it together? Then you’d be sitting here boring me about how lovely and kind he is?’

  Cleo considered. ‘He’s not always lovely or kind. But mostly.’

  ‘Was Gav?’

  ‘I would’ve thought so, once, but he hid a lot, didn’t he? Infertility. Suspected clap. Infidelity. Not lovely or kind.’

  Cleo let herself into the quiet house. From the sofa, Justin looked up from his book and waved half a pack of biscuits. ‘I pinched your biscuits.’

  She dropped down beside him, kicked off her shoes and snaffled two. ‘You unerringly discover the chocolate digestives.’

  He took another. ‘I know where you hide them, at the back of the top shelf. At least I didn’t pinch the Hobnobs.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ll have to think of somewhere new.’

  ‘Waste of time, I’ll find them.’ He twisted the top of the biscuit packet over. ‘Looking forward to moving into your new house?’

  She beamed. ‘Absolutely! It’ll be difficult, though. The bank wouldn’t give me as much as I wanted and the bills are endless. Surveyor, solicitor, you name it. It’s a good job Patrick is leaving the carpets because I won’t be able to afford any for about two years. I’ve got my bed and Shona’s cot, and that’s about it. We’ll have to camp until my Christmas bonus. If business has been good enough for Nathan to pay one.’

  ‘I’ll lend you a deckchair.’ He stretched, hunting around for his shoes, jacket and keys, dropped a careless peck on her hair and let himself out with an equally careless ‘’Bye!’

  She sat on after the sound of his car had faded, staring into the fire and thinking about how these cottage suites might not be very comfortable with their wooden arms but they were, at least, something to sit on. If she didn’t get that Christmas bonus, she’d be reduced to furnishing her sitting room with beanbags.

  And, with Patrick eager to sell and Cleo eager to buy, the conveyancing formalities swept Cleo through the next couple of weeks. So it was no wonder that her mind was only half on her work when she answered the phone on her desk.

  ‘Hello, stranger!’ Clive’s voice was light, teasing.

  Cleo adjusted the phone between her shoulder and head. ‘It’s only two days since I saw you, Clive. And … ah. I was supposed to phone you last night.’ With her free hand she used the mouse to try various colours on a chart she was creating for a seminar introduction.

  He chuckled understandingly. ‘I expect your head was in packing boxes and your mind setting out the furniture in your new house.’

  ‘Half right. Unfortunately, setting out my furniture isn’t going to be a long job.’

  ‘So, is the packing finished?’

  She sighed. ‘’Fraid not. It’s not very easy with Shona around and she doesn’t seem to want to go to bed at the moment. I can’t believe how much stuff there is of hers alone. But tonight Liza’s coming over to entertain her and I might make progress.’

  His turn to sigh. ‘So you’re not coming out? Any chance of a nice long, late-night phone call?’

  ‘Um …’ Actually, she craved the pleasure of flaking out after yet another evening sorting possessions into supermarket boxes on top of all her other evening chores. Once Clive began to tell her about what editors had said about his latest zombie mash-up, she could be on the phone for an hour.

  ‘So how about tomorrow night?’

  She tried to make her voice matter-of-fact rather than apologetic. ‘Justin’s coming to see Shona, so I should just about get finished with the packing. But completion’s on Monday and my tenancy is officially up, so
getting ready to move is my priority.’

  His voice went flat. ‘OK, I get the picture. You’re busy. Moving house, looking after your daughter. And your daughter’s father to play Happy Families with. The only good thing about going out with you, Cleo, is that I get a lot of stories written because we never actually go out.’

  ‘We could do something on Sunday,’ she suggested guiltily. ‘If you don’t mind the house being like a tip, I’ll cook you dinner –’

  ‘Brilliant!’ He agreed so quickly and sounded so pleased that she realised with a sinking feeling, as she replaced the phone, that he thought he might get lucky.

  She glanced at the clock in the corner of her computer screen. And then again, in amazement. Good God! How did it get to twelve fifteen? Now she’d be late to meet Gav. Again.

  Struggling into her coat, cantering down the stairs rather than hanging on for the lift, scurrying along the pavement, weaving through halted cars, hopping on and off traffic islands.

  The pub was on a corner. Tall, white, bay windows jutting into the street: a favourite office-worker lunch venue.

  Bowling through the door, she found Gav tucking away his mobile phone. ‘Phew!’ she laughed. ‘I thought I might have missed you.’

  He didn’t answer her smile. ‘I was just ringing your office.’ He looked pointedly at his watch. She recognised his expression. Gav was sulking at her bad timekeeping and was waiting to be won round.

  She shrugged out of her coat and plonked herself in a chair, swooping on the menu. She called to the barman, ‘Could I have a stilton and bacon ciabatta, please? I’m a bit short of time.’

  Gav waited until the barman had taken the order. ‘I can’t bear the smell of stilton.’

  Absently, she nodded. In fact, she realised, she’d ordered it specifically to annoy him. Liza was right – she shouldn’t let him hang about like a stale smell. Their marriage was well and truly over and there was no point in swapping news over a toasted sandwich and a glass of wine as if they were a couple. They no longer were. End of.