‘And is it what you want, Meg?’
Larry watched her nod. She couldn’t, he thought, meet his father’s eyes. At work she was fine, but in private, damn her, she was an appalling liar.
‘How long do you intend to carry on with this — new career?’ her mother asked him.
‘For as long as Bill needs me.’
‘Until he goes to school, you mean? Won’t it look bad on your CV when you eventually do go back? Will it, Meg?’
Larry studied them in turn. They were all parents. They should be able to understand. ‘If Megan were to give up work to look after Bill you’d all be pleased,’ he stated. ‘What’s the difference?’ He looked up at them, waiting for the reply.
‘What if Meg wants another child? What would happen then?’
‘It’s only temporary,’ Megan said, ‘just until Larry gets another job. It’s nothing to make a fuss about.’
Megan’s mother spoke quietly. ‘And when might Larry get another job? It’s not as simple as you think, looking after a small boy, Larry.’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out, isn’t it? I’ve never had the opportunity to do it before. This is a marriage of equals. If Meg wanted to do it, I’d support her.’
‘And how does Megan feel about supporting you?’
Larry glanced at his wife. She was looking at the grass, smoothing the base of her glass over it gently.
‘It’s just until Larry gets a job that he wants,’ she said.
‘If it’s Ruth’s wages that you’re worried about,’ her father began astutely, but Megan lifted her head. ‘It’s not that, Daddy. Ruth’s already left. She’s got another job.’
‘What does Bill think of these new plans? Don’t you think he’ll take it badly, losing Ruth?’
‘He’s losing a nanny and gaining a father. We couldn’t force Ruth to stay, not once she’d decided.’
Larry found himself at the centre of a group of unconvinced faces. He didn’t think they would take it as negatively as they had. Even Meg was a bit short on the solidarity.
He turned to look at James for some sort of support.
James was lying on his back, holding his drink on his chest, strangely subdued. He looked at Larry and saw that something was required of him. He sat up slowly and raised his glass. An insect was walking slowly along the rim. He turned the glass in his hand and as the sun caught the crystal a streak of light bounced across his lean face.
‘And one vote for,’ he said. ‘I’m behind you, Larry. If you’re with him all day then as you said you’ll get to know Bill. How many fathers can say that? And Bill will get to know you. You can take him out with you, do men’s stuff. Model railway exhibitions, strip clubs. You can take him to his playgroup and chat up those itsy-bitsy bored mothers in their little skirts.’ He pushed his fair hair away from his eyes. ‘Do it. The day might come, mate, when it’s all taken from you and you’ll never get it back again.’
He lay back down on the lawn, speech over, holding his glass steady.
Larry couldn’t help but feel he hadn’t really improved his case.
Megan was frowning and he avoided her gaze.
He did the only thing possible in the circumstances.
He picked up the bottle and he poured them more champagne.
*
What is it about ‘Happy Birthday’? Larry wondered later when the rest of the guests had arrived and they gathered round the cake. Take ten random people, he thought, and put them in front of a birthday cake and each one will sing it in a different key.
Even when they started well, by the time they reached the octave jump they all sounded rather strained.
He didn’t take his eyes off Bill, who was staring at the candles with intense concentration as though by not looking at them he could pretend they weren’t there. Meg’s mother even managed a bit of harmonising at the end, but Larry was looking at his blond, newly-four-year-old son who was twisting his hands with a mixture of pride and anguish.
He watched Bill take a deep breath and blow at the four jittering candles whose flames were hardly visible in the sunlight. His friend Jonathan blew too and oh! the concentration — the embarrassment — the pressure to get them all out with one puff! But Bill did, and having done so, amidst cheers, he covered his face with his forearm whilst Jonathan seized his chance and took something from the top of the cake — a small cylindrical piece.
Larry at last breathed out. He felt light-headed from having held his breath for so long. Someone was tapping his arm.
‘He’s taken the chimbly off,’ Jonathan’s brother Edward was saying to him urgently.
‘Chimbly?’
‘Off the train.’
‘Ah.’ Before he could work out what a chimbly was, Edward had run off.
Relieved that he didn’t have to do anything, Larry picked another dripping bottle of champagne out of the ice-bucket and looked for a glass.
Bill and his guests were in the Wendy house with party squeakers and the four grandparents had found the whisky and were pulling sun loungers into the shade of the tree.
‘Bill’s a clone of you,’ James said as Larry flopped down next to him. ‘I nearly offered him a beer.’
‘Yeah.’ Larry felt something tickle his arm. He lifted his hand and swept it away and opened one eye.
It was a wasp. It had entered their exclusive circle, darting around like a tired child spoiling for a fight. There was nothing quite like a wasp for livening things up, he thought as Megan got to her knees, ready to run.
Larry flinched and James propped himself up on his elbow and took command of the situation.
‘Go away,’ he said loudly, startling the foursome of laughing grandparents under the tree into silence.
The wasp wavered for a moment before it shot off above their heads as silently as it had come. Larry tried to follow its flight path but lost it in the dots that danced in his eyes as they stared at the brilliant blue sky.
He blinked. ‘Probably gone for reinforcements,’ he said ruefully.
‘You just have to be firm with them,’ James replied. Megan handed round the birthday cake and sat down next to Larry.
She didn’t look at James. Larry could feel storm clouds ahead. He reached for a stray piece of icing and noticed the wasp was back, joined by two others all bobbing around the icing on the plate.
‘Go on, Wilder,’ Larry said, ‘do your bit.’
‘GO AWAY,’ Wilder said loudly. The wasps bobbed and dodged around the chocolate and settled on the top slice, antennae bristling. ‘Ouch!’ He put his hand to the back of his neck. ‘One of the buggers has bitten me.’
‘Stung you,’ Larry corrected, but Megan was on her feet again, looking at the back of Wilder’s neck with great concern. ‘There’s a tiny red hole here,’ she said. ‘Oh, it’s coming up into a lump. Are you allergic to wasps?’
‘I don’t know...’
‘So what happened to your powers of wasp-taming?’ Larry asked with interest.
Wilder shook his head slowly.
‘It always works, I can’t understand it...’
‘It’s getting bigger,’ Megan said. ‘You’re not allergic to them, are you?’ She sounded rather hopeful. ‘I’ll get something for it, vinegar for wasps, isn’t it.’ She stood up reluctantly, brushing away the blades of grass that had creased her knees. Wilder groaned. ‘It was a super-wasp,’ he said, ‘one of those French ones. Striped.’
‘Obviously didn’t understand you.’
‘I can feel it getting worse.’
Larry watched James pull back the neck of his white polo-shirt. The hairs on his tanned neck glinted in the sun.
Suddenly James turned his anguished face towards him. For a moment he was startled but then the pained look cleared and with mischief in his pale eyes James winked at him.
*
Later, when the party was over and everyone had gone home, Larry went into the garden to look for Bill. It was cool and quiet again with only the trampled-in cr
isps on the grass to prove it had ever happened.
Bill was kneeling on a wooden chair looking at the remains of his birthday cake on the garden table. After a moment he picked up the four blue candles, still in their frilly plastic holders. He touched the burnt wicks and one broke off and stuck to his finger. He brushed his finger on his t-shirt.
‘Can you light them again?’ he asked, turning towards Larry with the candles.
‘Of course I can.’
Bill nodded as though his belief had been confirmed and he pushed the candles back into the cake. The chocolate coating, hard again in the evening air, cracked into dark fissures. Larry went into the house for the matches and came back out striking one on the edge of the box. He shielded the match with his hand as he lit them, and stood back as the small flames took hold.
‘Did you make a wish the first time?’
Bill shook his head. A crumb of chocolate sponge dropped from his hair.
‘Well make one now.’
But Bill didn’t blow the candles out straight away. Instead he leaned against the table and watched them burn down slowly, their flames jerking from side to side in the evening breeze.
Larry felt something twist inside him as he looked at his son’s grave, illuminated face. The small pouches underneath his blue eyes were more pronounced after the busy day — or perhaps it was just the candles, catching angles with their light, pulling shadows up and down over the small face.
He watched the candles burn until all that was left of them were flaming wicks in little pools of wax in the blue holders.
Bill blew gently and the flames stuttered. He paused, then blew harder, and the flames died, leaving the wicks smouldering gently.
He shut his eyes tight.
Larry watched him for the long seconds until he opened them again. They were silent for a moment. After the brightness of the candles, the garden was dim. Then Larry couldn’t bear it any longer — he felt he had to know.
‘What did you wish?’ he asked as the breeze whipped at his hair.
Bill looked away from Larry. ‘If you tell, it doesn’t work,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ They were silent again.
Then Bill asked, ‘Does it?’
Larry watched the pale wisps of smoke get torn apart by the wind, absorbed by the dusk. He considered, rubbing his thumb along the indentation in his cheek. ‘It doesn’t make any difference one way or the other,’ he said after a moment, ‘I’m sure of that.’
He said it with conviction.
They didn’t have to deprive themselves — they didn’t have to deprive Bill. Not yet. They were — dreaded word — comfortable. Why did he feel sad? Looking at his son through the dying smoke in the dimming light, he was pained by a sudden love for him. It took him unawares and for a moment he was afraid. He felt his heart jerk. He felt his chest hurt with the pressure of love and he vowed that whatever Bill had wished for, he would get it for him. I’ll do it, I’ll do it for Bill. It didn’t matter that it had been his birthday and that he had all the things a four-year-old could ever want or need. This rush of painful love had him by the throat and was strangling him. Whatever he wants, he thought fiercely, whatever he wants he should have...
Bill was still leaning stiff-armed over the table, his pouched eyes holding his father’s. Larry felt himself drowning in their trust.
At last Bill spoke. His voice was clear and firm. ‘I’ll tell you what I want,’ he said. ‘I want Zoofie to come home.’
21
Monday was the first day of Larry’s new job, so he slept late.
Correction; he stayed in bed late. He stayed in bed late thinking about his new role in life, his role as mentor to his son and friend of pretty, bored mothers. He stared at the white ceiling with a smile on his face and his hand resting on the alarm clock.
Megan was already up — he had heard her shower and now he could hear her voice drifting up from the kitchen as she spoke to Bill.
She sounded very far away, in another world. She was in another world; the world of the gainfully employed. He, on the other hand, was entering the world of the primary caretaker and he was going to make a damned good job of it.
He took his hand off the alarm clock without looking at it, and stretched.
He knew he should get out of bed but he wasn’t sure what to wear. Not a suit, sure. Casual, he thought. Smart casual. He didn’t want to give out the wrong message: hey, look at me, I’m wearing jeans on a weekday! No, he was steering well clear of the unemployed look.
‘Larry?’ Megan called to him from the bottom of the stairs. He pretended he hadn’t heard, and didn’t reply. Perks of the job.
He heard her coming up the stairs. He heard a cup rattle on a saucer and he shut his eyes and relaxed back into the pillows.
‘Are you awake?’ she asked gently.
He feigned a groan and sat up, blinking at her. ‘Thanks, Megan. Did you bring the paper up?’
She jerked to attention. ‘Don’t push it, Larry,’ she warned. ‘Bill’s watching Cartoon Network. I’ve told him you’re looking after him, we’ve gone over it, and he seems quite happy.’ She put the tray across Larry’s knees.
‘A saucer, too,’ he said, staring at it. ‘It’s like being ill.’ He sipped the coffee and looked at his wife over the rim of the cup. ‘Do I get this every morning?’
Megan picked up her hair brush and looked at herself in the mirror. She began to brush her hair vigorously. ‘From now on, Larry, the domestic arena is your job.’ She looked over her shoulder and her blue eyes caught his. ‘What are you doing today? Have you got any plans?’
Larry grinned at her. ‘Plans? Meg, I’m going to give fatherhood a whole new meaning.’
She raised her eyebrows and turned back to the mirror. ‘Give the strip clubs a miss for today, huh?’
He knew she’d bring it up.
‘That was nothing to do with me,’ he protested, ‘I hadn’t even spoken to James about looking after Bill.’
She gave him a disbelieving look. ‘Anyway, can you make sure there’s something for supper?’
‘“Can I make sure there’s something for supper,” she says.’ Larry chuckled gently, patiently even, at his wife of little faith. ‘Of course I can, woman, it’s my job. Anything particular you’d like? Roast chicken? Steak?’
She turned to look at him again. After a moment she said, ‘Anything. Whatever you fancy.’
‘Come here and I’ll show you what I fancy.’
‘Larry!’ She checked her watch. ‘I’ve got to go. Could you call Bill up here?’
‘I was going to,’ Larry said. ‘BILL!’
After a two-second silence they heard him scurrying up the stairs on his hands and knees. He stood in the doorway, waiting for orders. ‘What?’ His pyjamas were fastened incorrectly so that one edge was lower than the other. He seemed dismayed at seeing his father still in bed.
‘Now remember, Daddy’s looking after you today,’ Megan said, crouching down to his level. ‘You’ll be good, won’t you?’
Bill’s big eyes went from his mother to his father and back to his mother again. He didn’t say a word.
Megan chewed her lip. She put her all’s-well-with-the-world smile on and smoothed his hair. ‘I’m off to work now. I’ll see you both later.’ She bent over Larry and kissed him first, on the lips. Then she bent over Bill and kissed him on his nose. ‘Be good for Daddy,’ she said again.
Flashing Larry a brief smile, she ran downstairs and moments later they heard the door slam so hard that his cup vibrated in the saucer. As the reverberations died away the house was left in utter silence.
Bill was the first to break it. ‘Mummy’s gone,’ he said, and stood, still listening. After a moment, as though it was important, he added: ‘And Zoofie’s gone.’
Larry scratched his head. ‘Yes, that’s right. Except that Mummy’s only gone to work. Er, Bill, do you think you could go downstairs and fetch Daddy’s newspaper?’
Bill nodded decisively.
‘Good boy. Off you go.’
Larry watched him as he padded out of the room. He heard him slither down the stairs. It occurred to him that it was rather a shame that he was too young to pour the coffee because another one would have been very nice. After a moment he heard Bill come back up the stairs again. As before, he stood in the doorway tugging at the mismatched edge of his jacket. There was no sign of a newspaper. ‘Couldn’t you find it?’ Larry asked urgently. ‘Couldn’t you find the newspaper?’
‘No. It’s gone.’
Larry put the tray on the bedside table and heaved himself up in bed, slightly disgruntled. ‘Did you look on the kitchen table?’
A nod.
‘And it wasn’t there?’
‘No.’
‘It wasn’t by Mummy’s breakfast plate?’
‘No.’
I’ll train him, Larry thought as he got out of bed. He just needs guidance, a bit of encouragement and a firm hand. ‘Okay!’ he said heartily, picking Bill up. Carrying him downstairs he made for the kitchen. ‘What shall we do today, little soldier?’
Bill looked at him silently.
‘A list,’ Larry proposed, thinking of the young mothers who might have to wait. ‘We’ll make a list. We’ll write down all the things you would like to do. What would you like to do if you could do anything at all in the world?’
Bill rubbed his eye with his fist. ‘When’s Zoofie coming back?’
‘Zoofie?’ This question so soon? Hell, it was her first morning away, Larry thought; he can’t be missing her yet. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘sit somewhere I can see you. On the table. Come here.’ He picked him up under the arms and put him on the table and looked at him. ‘When’s Ruth coming back? Well, she looked after you because Mum and I were working. Now that I’m not working, I can look after you. Do you remember that I already told you that?’
Bill’s blue eyes washed him with their gaze and he received the words in silence.
It was, thought Larry, like throwing stones in a bottomless pit. No splash. ‘We’ll have fun,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’ll enjoy it.’ Even though he meant it, his words sounded suspiciously false, even to himself.
Striking a Balance Page 12
