A Friend of the Family

by Lisa Jewell

  Frustrated: extremely. Because ultimately there was nothing he could do to stop this scary, uncontrollable process.

  Sad: very. It had only been a week since Millie’s curveball and already their relationship had changed beyond all recognition. If someone had told him a week ago that he and Millie would have a huge row in their favourite Italian restaurant which culminated in Millie storming off, and him letting her, he’d have laughed in their face. No way, he’d have said, not me and Millie. We get on so well. We never argue. And Friday’s our favourite night…

  Sean felt a seismic emotional shock run through his body at the thought of what they’d have been doing this time last week and clenched his jaw hard to hold back the tears that had suddenly appeared from nowhere.

  He cleared his throat, picked up the bill and Millie’s £20 note and thought about finding a newsagent, picking up a big bag of Haribos and some trashy magazines, walking back to Millie’s, plying her with foot massages and scalp rubs, putting tonight behind them and making a fresh start.

  But then the big, ugly parrot started squawking again – ‘Self-preservation, Sean, self-preservation – don’t let it win!’And five minutes later he found himself in the back of a black cab and on his way to Brewer Street.

  Eating Cheese in the Moonlight

  Tony thought it was part of his dream at first. He’d been having a particularly good one about Millie – no horses this time, just him and Millie lying together in a hammock, Millie tearing up bits of food for him and hand-feeding them to him while she massaged his groin with… her third hand? Well, with something, anyway. A large lizard had slunk up and grinned at them. It had a gold tooth and started making a strange noise, like a telephone ringing. They’d laughed at first, at this lizard and its strange phone-ringing noises, until it had become annoying. And then he’d reached out to shut the lizard’s mouth and the lizard had kept dodging him, ducking and diving and grinning at him. And then Tony woke up and realized that his phone was ringing.

  He looked at his radio alarm: 3.58a.m.

  Jesus.

  He pulled the receiver towards him. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Doby,’ came a strangulated voice, ‘it’s Mewell.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I think you’ve got the wrong number.’

  ‘No! No – it’s me, Millie.’

  ‘Millie!’ he sat bolt upright and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Are you OK? Is everything all right?’

  Yes. No. I… I…’ she sniffed. ‘Are you alone?’

  Tony checked the pillow next to his, just to be sure. ‘Yes. Alone. Totally. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m really sorry to wake you, Tony. I really am. I know it’s late, but I’m in such a state and didn’t know who else to talk to. I’ll go if you want me to…’

  ‘Nonono. Don’t. Don’t go. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Tony. I’ve just got myself so wound up. Too wound up to sleep. And I can’t take a pill because of the baby. And… shit. I’m such a fucking mess.’

  ‘What happened, Millie? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Me and Sean had a row. I stormed off and now he’s buggered off somewhere and still isn’t home.’

  ‘A row? What about?’

  ‘God – I don’t know where to start. He’s just… he’s just… he’s such a child, Tony.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Tony. ‘Sean can be a bit childish.’

  ‘It’s this being-pregnant thing. He says he’s happy about it but he just seems to be annoyed with me. Like, you know – You got yourself into this mess, don’t expect me to make it any easier for you. You know, like I went out in the cold without a cardigan on and now I’ve got a cold and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.’

  Tony tutted and shook his head. ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘what a dick. I can’t believe he’s behaving like this. Do you want me to say something to him for you? Hmm? Have a word with him?’

  ‘No! Absolutely not. He’s my problem and I’ll deal with it, Tony. But the thing is, you see, Sean came to me from nowhere, out of the blue – do you see? I’ve got no context to put him in. I don’t really know anything about him. I mean, he’s told me that he’s never really had a serious relationship before, but then, neither have I, not really, and that doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of sustaining one. And I just wondered, you know, maybe you could tell me things about him, things, I don’t know, like, what were his ex-girlfriends like and why did the relationships end and what sort of things he’s ever said about babies. All that sort of thing. But only if it doesn’t make you feel horribly disloyal.’

  ‘Disloyal?’ said Tony. ‘No. Not at all. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.’

  And he did. He told her about Sean’s middle-child complex and how he always needed to be the centre of attention and panicked if he didn’t think he was getting enough of anything, be it fish fingers or maternal love. He told her all about the blondes and the tears and the heartbreak. He told her how surprised the whole family were that Sean had found someone he loved enough to make a commitment to because it had looked like he might end up alone. He also told her how Sean had a touch of the misogynist about him, was impatient, selfish and short-sighted. How he’d never really developed emotionally and possibly wasn’t equipped to deal with the complexities of a proper grown-up relationship.

  ‘He’s spoilt,’ he said, finally, ‘that’s the problem with Sean. He’s never had to work at anything. Got given a council flat. Had the girls lining up for him. And of course Mum and Dad have let him get away with murder for years, paid his bills, done his washing, taken him on holidays, never questioned what the hell he was doing with his life. And now that he’s written this book and has got all this money and all this success, well, you know…’

  Millie sniffed on the other end of the line. ‘So you’re saying that my fiancé is an emotional cripple?’

  ‘No. Not a cripple. But he has a slight emotional limp, let’s put it that way.’

  ‘But babies, Tony, has he ever said anything to you about babies?’

  Tony gave the question some serious thought. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘I’ve never heard him say anything about babies, good or bad.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Millie, sounding slightly disappointed. ‘But why would he ask me to marry him if he doesn’t want babies? I mean, isn’t that the whole point of getting married?’

  ‘Well,’ said Tony, ‘I’d have thought so.’

  ‘Oh God, Tony. I just – I don’t understand him. I don’t know what’s going through his head.’

  ‘Look,’ said Tony, ‘Sean’s a complex guy. I don’t think anyone really understands him. But you mustn’t let him get away with it, OK? Don’t let him think he can behave this way. He’s a spoilt brat and he needs some discipline. He needs to realize that he’s a grown man now, that he has responsibilities.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got no intention of letting him get away with anything, I can assure you. It’s not in my nature.’

  ‘Good on you.’

  ‘And I’ll tell you one thing for sure, whatever happens, I’m not letting him get in my bed tonight. No way.’

  ‘Absolutely right,’ said Tony, ‘don’t you let him anywhere near you.’

  There was a long pause before Millie said anything, and Tony listened to the sound of her snotty breathing down the phone and felt unbelievably close to her. There was something incredibly intimate about talking to someone on the phone in the middle of the night, in the dark, all naked and wrapped up in goosedown and cotton, like a baby.

  ‘Anyway, Tony. That was all. I just needed a bit of context. You can get back to sleep now.’

  ‘No – no. Honestly. I’m fine. I’m wide awake now.’

  ‘God – I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin your night’s sleep…’

  ‘Really, Millie, no need to be. I don’t sleep all that well. I’d probably have woken up in ten minutes anyway. I usually do. It’s nice to have someone to talk to for a ch
ange. Actually,’ he said, a thought suddenly occurring to him, ‘hold on just one second. Don’t go away. I’m just getting the other phone.’ He put the phone down, pulled on his dressing-gown and padded across soft cream carpet towards his living room, where he retrieved the walkabout.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi. What were we talking about?’

  ‘Sean.’

  ‘Oh yes. Sean. Don’t want to talk about Sean any more. Bored of talking about Sean. He’s a big, fat tosser and that’s that.’

  ‘So – what shall we talk about?’

  ‘Hmm…’ said Millie, in a kitteny, slinky kind of way that made Tony imagine her naked on silk sheets with her hair all mussed up. ‘Baby names?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I like Nat for a boy. Or maybe Theo. And if it’s a girl, I like Mathilda. I like Lois, too, but Lois London sounds kind of weird, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘What names do you like?’

  ‘God,’ he ran a hand over his hair, ‘I’ve never really thought about it. David?’

  ‘David?! You can’t call a baby David. He’ll end up being called Dave and having spots and greasy hair. What about girls’ names?’

  ‘Er… I don’t know. Amanda?’

  ‘Amanda! I used to love the name Amanda when I was little. Amanda…’ she dragged out the syllables, ‘Amanda London. Hmm, you know. I quite like it. It’s got a sort of post-modern charm, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Tony, wishing that they were talking about something about which he had an opinion of some sort. He wandered into the kitchen while Millie kept talking baby names, and absent-mindedly opened the fridge. A large hunk of vintage Cheddar winked at him and he pulled it out, got a knife out of a drawer and started shaving slivers off it, slipping them into his mouth and letting them melt on his tongue. He brought the hunk of cheese and a glass of orange juice into the living room and lay down on his sofa while they chatted. Through the glass set into the ceiling above him, he could see the sky starting to turn from black to an amber-tinged navy as the sun began its slow ascent somewhere over the horizon. The moon was big and fat overhead and Millie’s voice was all husky honey in his ear as she recited baby names to him from a book: Albert, Amber, Anastasia, Archie, Astrid… Tony responded with ‘hmm’s, and ‘no’s, and ‘quite nice’s and stared at the moon while Millie chanted – Bathsheba, Bella, Boris, Bruce and Bryony. Baby names had never sounded so sexy.

  ‘Are you eating something?’ said Millie, suddenly.

  ‘Nu-uh,’ said Tony, trying to dislodge a wedge of pasty cheese from his tongue, ‘just drinking some orange juice.’

  ‘God – do you do that?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Get stuff out of the fridge in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Ha. I always thought people only did that in American films. So – what else are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing. Just lying here on my sofa. Drinking juice. Talking to you.’

  ‘What does your house look like?’

  ‘My house?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Describe it to me.’

  ‘Well. It’s a duplex apartment, actually. In a gated mews development. It’s a Barratt one, but really nice, you know. Architect-designed and everything…’

  ‘Architect designed, eh? As opposed to a house that was designed by a dinner lady?’

  ‘Ha ha ha.’

  ‘Tell me about your sofa.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Look – I’m an interior designer. I need to know someone’s sofa to really know them.’

  ‘Well, what do you want to know?’

  ‘Colour. Fabric. Dimensions. Upholstery.’

  ‘Well. It’s a kind of lemony cream. And it’s a sort of ridged cottony fabric. It’s a big three-seater with a low back and lots of cushions.’

  ‘From?’

  ‘Ikea.’

  ‘Ikea?’

  ‘Is that bad?’

  ‘It’s terrible, Tony, absolutely appalling. God – you live in a Barratt home and you have an Ikea sofa. You’re not much like your parents, are you?’

  ‘No, I guess not. I can’t stand clutter.’

  ‘So – how much of your furniture did you get from Ikea? Honestly? –’

  ‘Er… all of it?’

  ‘Oh, Tony.’

  ‘Well – it’s nice stuff and it all goes together.’

  ‘It matches, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. It matches.’

  ‘Tony, furniture is not supposed to match. It’s supposed to evolve and inspire and communicate. It’s supposed to tell people about you – about who you are.’

  ‘Well, maybe it does. Maybe I’m a matching kind of a guy.’

  ‘So – your pants and socks, do they…?’

  Tony laughed. ‘On occasion,’ he said, ‘but never by design. But look,’ he said as a rather exciting thought occurred to him, ‘my flat. I’ve never really done anything to it and it’s a really nice place. It’s got a lot of potential. Would you ever consider a commission in the wilds of south London?’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Anerley.’

  ‘Anerley – where the hell’s that?!’

  ‘Other side of Crystal Palace Park. Not far from my mum and dad.’

  ‘Hmm, I’ll think about it. I’d need to see some pictures, though, before I drag myself all the way out to Twin Peaks… Oh, hello, pud.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘My cat’s just walked into my room. Hello, beautiful…’

  ‘You’ve got a cat?’

  ‘I’ve got four cats, actually. I told you didn’t I? Classic singleton. I’ve been preparing myself with all the essential accoutrements for my inevitable lonely destiny. Even had a gay best friend lined up until Sean came along with his engagement rings and his rubber-busting sperm.’

  Tony laughed again. ‘So,’ he said, ‘if single thirtysomething women have cats and gay best friends, what do single men have?’

  ‘Very good question,’ said Millie. ‘Sports cars and female best friends, I suppose.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Tony, slapping his forehead, ‘you got me. On both counts.’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t count, because you’re not single.’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  ‘Er – then who is that very nice blonde woman with the amazing legs who goes everywhere with you?’

  Oh yes. He’d forgotten about her.

  Ness.

  The very thought sent a chill running through him. He’d done everything he could to avoid Ness over the past couple of weeks. There’d been a lot of migraines and late nights at the office and family commitments. He should just finish it with Ness, Tony was aware of that. He should sit down with her like a grown-up and hold her hand and look her in the eye and say, ‘Ness, you’re a really great girl, and we’ve had some really good times, but…’ and then deal with the consequences. But he just couldn’t do it. He was, he supposed, subconsciously waiting for her to do something wrong so that he could pounce upon it as a perfectly acceptable excuse to dump her. But she never did. It was dawning upon Tony very slowly that Ness was actually perfect. She was the perfect girlfriend. But Ness had one big fault. A huge unsurmountable fault.

  She wasn’t Millie.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Millie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The front door just went. He’s back,’ she whispered. ‘I have to go now.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tony, deflating. ‘OK.’

  ‘Thank you so much for the chat. It’s been really lovely.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. It’s been a pleasure.’

  ‘You’ve really calmed me down. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Thank you.’

  ‘Any time. Any time at all. Just promise me one thing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t let him get away with it. OK?’

  ‘Oh trust me, Tony. He’s not getting away with anything. Shit. He’s coming. Sleep tigh
t, Tony.’

  ‘Yes – you too. Sleep tight.’But it was too late. She’d already hung up.

  Tony switched off his phone and it felt a little like switching off a life-support machine. He tried to imagine what was happening in Millie’s bedroom right now. Was Millie shouting at Sean, throwing pillows at him? Or was she crying again, was Sean comforting her? He wished it could be him. He’d smooth her hair and mop her tears and tell her that everything would be all right, that they’d be the best mum and dad in the world. And then he’d slip under the sheets with her and spoon her back and tell her stories all night long about how great their life was going to be.

  He sighed and clutched the phone to his chest while he stared up through the glass again. He stared at the moon until it slipped out of view and was replaced by the early-morning sun and by the time he went to bed it was broad daylight and he’d eaten nearly half a pound of cheese.

  Paradise Paul’s without Millie in it, Sean soon realized, was just a poky, overcrowded basement bar full of braying, coked-up tossers. Paul barely gave him a second glance and Millie’s friends seemed like unreachable strangers without her there to bond him to them. To compensate for his sense of distance from everyone, Sean drank roughly half a bottle of rum, had three very large lines of coke and didn’t get back to Millie’s until 4.30 a.m.

  On the sofa in the living room were a spare duvet, three of the cats and a large handwritten note that said ‘Your Bed’.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered to himself.

  He petted the cats, picked up the note and tiptoed towards the bedroom. Millie was curled up on her side, her fourth and favourite cat pressed into the crook of her legs. The cat looked up superciliously when he heard Sean enter, and eyed him disdainfully as if to say, ‘If you think you’re coming anywhere near my beloved, slumbering mistress, you’ve got another think coming.’

  He ignored the cat and trod softly towards the bed. Millie’s hair was half over her face and her bare arm gleamed olive in the light from the hallway. He looked at her lovely mouth all pursed up like a little girl’s and for a brief second he felt something like a paternal twinge as he imagined what it would be like if Millie had a little girl. Would she inherit her mother’s snub nose, her good-enough-to-eat skin, that plump, stubborn little mouth? He imagined himself walking into a nursery after a night out, looking at his beautiful dusky-skinned daughter, adjusting her blanket, wondering what she was dreaming about. Yes, he thought, he could envisage that. He smiled fondly and reached out with one hand to brush the hair off Millie’s smooth cheek.