by Mike Gayle
In the end the only thing that kept him heading towards his parents’ house was the prospect of his dad living in his spare room indefinitely and them ending up like some kind of modern Steptoe and Son. The thought of being permanently cast in the role of Harold Steptoe, and his dad in the role of the curmudgeonly Albert, made Adam shudder. No, much as he loved his father, the two of them had undertaken enough rebonding in the past month and a bit to last a lifetime.
‘Listen Dad,’ said Adam as they came to a halt at a set of traffic lights. ‘It’s like this: we’re not going to Habitat and I’m not after a cabinet.’
‘What do you mean? Have you changed your mind?’
‘No Dad, I never was going to buy a cabinet.’
‘Why would you tell me you needed me to help you buy a cabinet if you didn’t want to buy one? It makes no sense but then what do I know.’
‘Dad, this isn’t about furniture. It’s about you and Mum. I only said all that stuff about Habitat to get you in the car. You need to talk to Mum and sort out everything, OK?’
There was a silence. Adam didn’t have a clue what was going through his mind but he was pretty sure it wasn’t good.
‘Look Dad, this really is for the best,’ said Adam as they pulled off the High Street.
Dad said nothing.
‘I know you’re annoyed but in half an hour or so this could all be over.’
Still his dad didn’t say a word.
‘Just think about it, Dad, if you sort this out you could get back to your garden, you know how much you love your gardening.’ He reversed into a parking spot right out outside the house and switched off the engine. Adam pointed to Russ and Luke who were standing on the front doorstep. ‘See, Dad? Russ and Luke came over to make sure that Mum was in and my job was to make sure you got here, so go on, just go in and talk to her and get this sorted.’
Finally his dad, clearly trying to control his anger, spoke. ‘Son,’ he said. ‘I understand that you and your brothers think you’re doing the right thing, and I understand that this must be quite upsetting for you but I swear to you that if you don’t start this car up this very second and take me back to your place I will never have anything to do with you or your brothers ever again.’
Adam had never heard his dad talk with such vehemence and he obviously meant every word he said. As far as his dad was concerned Adam and his brothers had overstepped the mark by some way. For the first time in years Adam felt afraid, not of his dad, but of the situation. This wasn’t just some overblown tiff. This really was the beginning of the end.
Starting up the car Adam watched a look of bewilderment spread across his brothers’ faces as they made their way down the front path towards them.
‘Dad, I’m sorry,’ said Adam as he released the handbrake, desperately hoping for some kind of response. ‘I’m really sorry. Say something will you? Just say something.’
But his dad said nothing.
‘Sorry’
It was the following morning and Adam had been lying in bed for a good half-hour before he gave up and accepted that despite his extreme tiredness he was unlikely to get back to sleep any time soon. As he listened to the clanging sound of Dad searching around in the pan cupboard, no doubt looking for a frying pan for his regulation fried breakfast, Adam glanced over at the luminous red display of his digital alarm clock.
He decided to head into town and treat himself to something new and expensive that he didn’t need. He picked up yesterday’s clothes that were lying on the floor at the foot of the bed and put them on, shoved his feet into his trainers and went downstairs. Pausing to glance in the direction of the kitchen where his father continued his banging and clanking, he made his way out of the front door and closed it quietly behind him.
Adam and his father had not said a single word to each other since the previous afternoon. Passing each other in the hallway, in the kitchen or outside the bathroom their preferred method of communication appeared to be what was known within the family circle as ‘the Bachelor glower’ (brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a permanent scowl) which could variously be interpreted as ‘Just stay away from me,’ ‘You have let me down badly’ or ‘I am so annoyed that I can barely look at you,’ depending upon who was doing the scowling and the degree of facial manipulation that was occurring. This being the case Adam had opted simply to stay out of his father’s way and as his dad had commandeered the front room with the widescreen TV Adam had remained upstairs watching the tiny portable in his bedroom.
Adam headed to the Arndale and spent a good hour or so wandering in and out of shops picking up anything that took his fancy from new jeans and trainers to a miniature laptop and designer watch.
From there, he made his way to Selfridges but as he passed the St Mary’s Gate branch of Paperchase he found himself going inside. Adam couldn’t remember the last time he had bought so much as a birthday card so what he was doing in the shop was a mystery but eventually as he browsed the aisles he was drawn to the blank greetings card section. There were cards of every description from arty-looking black and white pictures through to ones adorned with the faces of celebrities but the only type that interested Adam were reproductions of various artistic pieces. He selected a Rothko print entitled ‘White over Red’, picked up a pack of biros and took them to the till to pay for his purchases.
Adam changed his mind about Selfridges and doubled back on himself until he reached the Arndale branch of Caffè Nero where he bought an ordinary filter coffee (together with an impulse purchase of a blueberry muffin) and then sat down at a table towards the rear of the store. He took out the card from its paper bag, ripped open the cellophane, opened his new pack of pens and contemplated the open page in front of him. He took a bite of blueberry muffin, chewed, then finally committed pen to paper:
‘Sorry’
He tried to imagine what Steph might feel when she read it. Would she like the card? Would she like the fact that it contained only a single word? Would she even know what he was sorry about? He wasn’t sure but he needed to do it. Not because he was going to try and win her back (he was pretty sure that Luke was right that it was unlikely she was going to change her mind) but because he felt, for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint, that it was the right thing to do.
Ten minutes later, having drunk his coffee, consumed his muffin and sealed his card in an envelope he checked his phone for Steph’s address, scribbled it on the card and headed in the direction of the nearest post box.
Adam and his father continued to ignore each other for the next few days but over time his father’s scowls became less scowly until by the following Friday morning Dad practically managed a smile as he entered the kitchen to make breakfast. By lunchtime he was even making tentative suggestions about a joint visit to Somerfield.
Grateful that the war was over, Adam agreed not only to his father’s trip to Somerfield but also to the joint purchasing of six cans of tinned carrots, three of new potatoes, several portions of boil-in-the-bag cod and half a pound of sliced ox tongue that his dad alleged was good for sandwiches.
Back at home Adam helped his father unpack the shopping, narrowly avoided an assignation with a white bread ox-tongue sandwich by pleading the need to work. Instead he escaped to a nearby café and started planning the mother of all big nights out because if there was anyone in need of letting his hair down Adam was pretty sure it would be him.
He met up with the boys at a bar on Thomas Street just after nine and made them trawl through the northern quarter until midnight when, much to his disappointment, three-quarters of the group went home citing various family commitments, moaning partners and sheer general fatigue as their excuse. Determined not to let the others rain on his parade, Adam then led the remainder across the city to a host of bars and clubs that most of his friends wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting into on a Friday night had it not been for Adam’s influence with the door staff.
At just after two in the morning, in a bar calle
d the Clover Lounge with two of the remaining nucleus of his friends talking about heading home, Adam noticed a girl who had clearly stepped straight out of the number one slot of an FHM magazine’s ‘High Street Honeys’ feature. She was quite unmistakably, in fact unashamedly, making eye contact with him.
With all that had happened in recent weeks. Adam hadn’t given the opposite sex a great deal of thought. Now, however, that a young, pretty and scantily-clad girl was making it clear that she was interested, he decided now was the time to give it a great deal of thought. The main question on Adam’s mind was testing whether Luke had been right in his suggestion that he should stick to what he was good at: being a bachelor. Adam was indeed good at being a bachelor. Of all the bachelors he knew he was the best. No one (at least no one who wasn’t playing premier league football) could out-bachelor him. He was the James Bond of bachelordom and there were guys in the bar who would have lopped off a limb to be him for a single night. But was that enough? Enough to make a life that wasn’t completely devoid of all meaning? Adam decided to find out.
Making his way across the bar Adam engaged the girl, who turned out to be Danish (or possibly Swedish, he wasn’t quite sure because he had been too busy looking at her legs to pay much attention to what she was saying) in conversation. Refocusing his mind from her legs to her lips Adam learned she had come to Manchester to see some university friends and this was her last night in town before heading back home, so she was desperate for the night to be as memorable as possible.
Clicking straight into ‘Adam-on-the-pull-autopilot’ within fifteen effortless minutes Adam had his arm round her slender waist, a beer in his hand and a big grin on his face that might as well have been a flashing neon sign announcing: ‘Here I am, a thirty-eight-year-old single man with my arm round the kind of girl most mortals could only dream of.’ If there was a heaven for bachelors this was it. This was cool of the shaken but not stirred variety. This really was the best a man could get.
‘That sounds like a great plan.’
‘You do realise that this is still blowing my mind, don’t you?’ Russell was looking across at Angie with real adoration in his eyes as they sat in an upmarket pizza restaurant on Wilbraham Road celebrating their two month anniversary. ‘Look at us! After all this time and all that wasted mental energy you and I are a walking, talking, properly functioning couple! I even described you to Debbie, the receptionist, as my girlfriend! She asked me what I was doing tonight and I said I’m treating my girlfriend Angie to a posh meal.’ He stopped and grinned. ‘That is right, isn’t it? You are my girlfriend. We are doing the girlfriend/boyfriend thing?’
‘What are you like?’ laughed Angie. ‘Of course I’m your bloody girlfriend. And just so that you know, I’ve been referring to you as my boyfriend on Facebook for weeks now. I know it’s the equivalent of when I was a teenager at school and used to spend whole biology lessons practising my “Mrs Robbie Williams” signature in my exercise book but I’m too happy to care. You make me happy, Russell Bachelor. You make me the happiest girl in the world.’
From the moment that Angie had kissed him, told him she loved him and (later that evening at her flat) tearfully confessed that it had been her feelings for him that had made her end her relationship with Aaron, Russell had felt as though he could switch off his inner worrier and get on with the business of life. Suddenly hating work, being broke and even being depressed about his parents’ break-up and the Bachelor brothers’ failed attempt to get their parents back together didn’t affect him in the same way. Now that he knew he was loved and adored for the very first time he had a way at hand of keeping all of the bad stuff in perspective. And Angie did adore him. She hadn’t bothered with any of the usual game-playing. She had simply laid it all out in the open: this is who I am and this is how I feel. And in return her openness and honesty had reaped massive dividends from Russell because after all this time in the wilderness he realised that this, rather than what he had experienced focusing all his thoughts and efforts on Cassie, was what love was meant to feel like: warm, tangible and secure.
‘I love the fact that we’re not playing games with each other,’ said Angie. ‘And I know this is going to sound cheesy but this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Not only am I with my best mate but I’m also with the guy I want to be with most in the world.’ She paused, blushed, and looked down at the empty plates on the table. ‘I know I said I quite fancied a dessert but I’m suddenly not feeling quite as hungry as I was. What would you say to us getting the bill and heading back to mine?’
‘That,’ grinned Russell, assuming a Leslie Phillips-style leer, ‘sounds like an excellent idea, my dear.’
Waking up at Angie’s flat in Whalley Range the following morning Russell was surprised to find himself alone in the bed with Angie nowhere to be seen. He quickly dressed and made his way along the hallway checking first the bathroom, then the kitchen and finally the living room, where he found her sitting on the sofa in tears, a letter in her hand.
‘Hey you,’ he said, sitting down next to her. ‘What’s up? What are all these tears about?’
‘This,’ she said, waving the letter. ‘I’m broke, Russ. I’ve reached the limit of my overdraft and now they’re saying I’ve got to go and see them so that I can come up with some sort of plan to pay back the money I owe. But I can’t! I’ve barely got anything to live on once I’ve paid the rent as it is.’
Russell took the letter and winced when he read the punchline. Angie was apparently five thousand pounds overdrawn.
‘How did this happen? I thought you were really good with money?’
‘I am usually but covering Aaron’s share of the rent has nearly killed me.’
‘So have you thought about moving?’
‘Of course I have,’ she tutted. ‘What am I, stupid?’
‘So why haven’t you done it?’
‘Because I know it’ll make me miserable.’
Russell sighed. ‘Well look, if you’re desperate I could probably loan you a couple of hundred for a while if that would be any help.’
Angie stood up and walked over to the window. ‘I don’t want your stupid money, Russ, OK?’
‘Fine.’ Russell wondered why this all suddenly appeared to be his fault. ‘So what do you want then?’
Angie turned round. ‘I want you to move in with me.’
‘Move in?’
‘Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to hand over your testicles on a plate so there’s no need to pull that kind of face. All I’m saying is that I’d like it if you’d at least think about it.’
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit too soon? We’ve been together eight weeks! Even you’d have to admit that’s not exactly long.’
‘I’ve known you for years, Russ, it’s not like we’re some kind of overnight sensation, is it?’
‘Yeah, but for the majority of those “years” we were just mates, weren’t we? This is different. A new stage if you like and I’m not sure that we ought to be rushing things, that’s all. I mean, what’s to be gained?’
‘Other than being able to spend more time together?’
‘Look,’ replied Russell, picking up on her sarcasm, ‘there’s no need to be like that. I’m not saying I never want to move in with you, just that there’s no rush and no need to try and fix things that aren’t broken.’
There was a long silence. Angie was far from happy. ‘What if they were broken?’
‘Are you saying that if we don’t move in together that we should split up? Because that sounds like an ultimatum.’
‘Of course it’s not!’ Angie was unable to contain her exasperation. ‘What kind of nutter do you take me for? I was just floating it as an idea, that’s all, but now I’ve done it and seen your reaction you’ll be pleased to know that I feel completely and utterly stupid. You’re right, it is way too early. Just forget I even said anything, OK?’ She picked up the letter from the sofa, headed towards the door and then stopped. ‘Look, I�
�m going to get dressed and then why don’t you let me take you to BlueBar for breakfast, my treat?’
Russell determined that the cohabitation issue wasn’t going to spoil their weekend so he kissed her on the forehead, told her it was a great idea and tried his best not to panic.
‘It’s time to talk.’
Luke was in the kitchen heating up various bits of Marks and Spencer fare in preparation for Cassie’s first official visit home in over three weeks. During this period Luke had spoken to her on the phone half a dozen times and while most of the calls had been related to the practicalities of everyday life the last few conversations had all been building up to her return home and above all the conversation about their future. Aware that once a date was set there would be no going back they had taken care to bat possible times and locations for their meeting backwards and forwards without any real determination. To have done so would have been too scary, too real. Finally the call had come. Cassie had sounded small and distant as the arrangements were made; the date, time and location were fixed for the following Thursday but there was no mention of the agenda, although Luke guessed it was probably a given.
Searching for a clean tea towel with which to wipe his thumb that had accidentally become covered in sauce Luke was about to wipe his hands on the back of his jeans when the phone rang.
‘You sound breathless,’ said Mum. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, everything’s fine. I was just sorting out some stuff in the kitchen.’
Luke looked over at the new potatoes boiling away on the hob and reached across to turn the gas down.
‘Are you sure everything’s fine?’
‘Yeah, Mum.’
‘And what time is Cassie coming home?’
