Striking a Balance

by Curtis, Norma

  ‘Sorry, Bill. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you all right?’

  But the indignity of it was too much for Bill. He started to wail. The volume of his cries grew louder and louder and he wouldn’t be consoled by Larry’s ineffectual pats. Larry could see people glance at them. Larry lifted him out of the trolley and tried to calm him by pressing him to his chest but Bill, angry and inconsolable, translated his small physical hurts to the larger hurts that he had suffered during his new change of fortune and started to kick.

  ‘I want Zoofie!’ he cried.

  ‘Oh, shut up about Zoofie, bloody woman,’ Larry said, holding his legs.

  He was aware that people were stopping to look.

  Abandoning the trolley, Larry pushed through the queues of people waiting at the checkout. He was nearly at the exit when a middle-aged woman confronted him.

  ‘Is that your child?’ she asked bravely.

  Resisting his initial impulse, which was to shove her out of the way, Larry tried to smile. ‘Why, do you want him?’ He had to shout to be heard above Bill’s rising scream. What lunatic, he wondered, would want to kidnap Bill?

  ‘Zoofie!’Bill was screaming now. ‘I want Zoofie!’

  A small crowd gathered round Larry and his writhing son. It was all he could do to hold onto him. As he struggled with Bill he could feel their eyes on him, the object of their hostile attention. They were disapproving but at the same time interested; here was a diversion from shopping. They wanted to see what would happen next. A security guard approached them and put his hand on Larry’s shoulder. Larry’s ears were ringing with Bill’s screams and he shrugged the guard off. Larry had never had to deal with this aspect of Bill’s behaviour before and couldn’t think of any method to use other than brute force. He wouldn’t have thought Bill could be so strong. The furious sweat on Bill’s red face was soaking through his shirt.

  ‘What’s going on?’ the security guard asked.

  ‘I’m just — trying — to get him — home. He’s had a — long day,’ Larry shouted.

  ‘This your dad?’ the security guard asked Bill, trying to raise his voice above the screams.

  Bill turned his head away and with flailing arms he hit Larry on the side of his head. Dazed, Larry put Bill down on the floor. Bill’s pent-up frustration seemed to explode from him and he lay, kicking his feet on the cold floor while the crowd looked on.

  To Larry, he looked like something from The Exorcist.

  To the crowd, a toddler having a tantrum was fairly commonplace. They were getting bored now. Any kidnapper in his right mind would have run off. Therefore he was, as he’d said, the father.

  A woman in her early sixties came up and looked at Bill and tutted. His fury was burning itself out on Sainsbury’s floor. Dust balls were sticking to his damp hair. He was sitting up, no longer angry, but red-faced and confused and upset and frightened by his own fury as though it was something outside of him. He sat up, weeping, gulping in great sobs of air, but as Larry crouched next to him he flinched from his touch.

  Larry could sense the displeasure of what was left of the crowd. Even the security man was shaking his head, although this might have been a commiseration.

  ‘I’d better get him home,’ Larry said to the guard as Bill’s sobs turned into gulps. His emotions had exhausted him. Larry held out his hand one last time and Bill stretched out to reach him and allowed himself to be picked up. He hung limp against Larry’s shoulder.

  ‘He’s tired,’ one of the stragglers said accusingly. ‘Probably hungry, too.’

  That’s why I’m here, Larry thought angrily; shopping for food for supper. We’re all hungry. He briefly imagined himself reclaiming the trolley but he strapped Bill into the pushchair instead.

  As they left the store, Larry felt the dampness on the front of his shirt turning cold. He looked down at Bill who was quiet and flushed, and he felt how Bill looked. They pushed through the crowds and headed for home.

  Bill was asleep by the time they got back.

  Larry felt lonely and defeated as he lifted the pushchair into the house. The house was silent.

  He looked at Bill. His face was clear, but black lines stained his cheeks and his mouth was open a little as if in dismay at the hand that life had suddenly dealt him.

  Larry left the pushchair in the hall and got himself a drink. Tea, with brandy in it. The breakfast dishes remained unwashed on the table and a cloud of fruit flies hovered over an uneaten slice of apple. Larry sat at the table and sipped the alcoholic tea. The day was superimposed with nightmare qualities. Never would he have believed he could have made such a mess of things.

  He went into the familiar, warm red sitting room and switched on the television. He watched it exhaustedly with little interest and no comprehension.

  Megan was slipping her jacket on, ready to leave the office. Lisa looked up from her compact mirror. ‘Have you time for a drink?’ she asked Megan.

  Megan adjusted her collar. It was a long time since anyone had casually asked her that. She freed the bottom of her hair from her jacket collar. ‘Better not,’ she said. ‘I ought to go and rescue Larry. Another time.’

  Lisa had a direct way of looking at people when she talked that reminded Megan of James. ‘All right,’ she said.

  Megan felt the momentary wash of her green eyes before Lisa turned, her bag swinging, and left without a goodbye.

  As she passed reception, Megan heard Laura say something, and Lisa answer.

  Megan felt in her pocket for her car keys. She realised that she would have liked to have gone for a drink, discussed a little about the business.

  Still, at home she had two men waiting for her. And a meal. Larry would be waiting for her, taking her jacket in his new role as domestic man and chief caretaker. Proving to her that he’d made the right decision. And maybe he had.

  She stopped at an off-licence on the way home and bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the first day of Larry’s new job.

  Once home, she went to the back door and found it locked from the inside.

  She walked back along the gravel to the front and let herself in and almost fell over Bill, asleep in the pushchair in the hall.

  She hurried to the living room, relieved to hear the familiar strains of Coronation Street, and found Larry stretched out on the sofa, asleep. On the floor next to him was a bottle of brandy alongside a mug of tea. She went into the kitchen, which was a mess, and put the bottle on the table among the breakfast dishes. Not only had they been untouched since the morning, but the tray she’d taken up for Larry was still on

  the table too.

  She took off her red jacket and slung it over a chair.

  She went to the fridge and opened the door.

  No food. Great.

  She slammed it shut and went back into the living room.

  Larry was sitting up, woken by the noise and startled to see her.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘been busy?’

  Larry looked at her with eyes that reminded her of pictures of seals waiting to be clubbed. Somehow he seemed to have missed the sarcasm because he flopped back on the sofa and shut his eyes. ‘Hardest work I’ve ever done,’ he said.

  Megan picked up a deep pink cushion and hit him with it.

  ‘Ouch! What was that for?’ he asked indignantly.

  ‘Hardest work you’ve ever done?’ she asked in disbelief. ‘Women have to do it every day of their lives. And what’s for supper?’

  ‘Pizza, Indian, Chinese; take your pick.’

  ‘Larry!’ Megan sat down in the armchair opposite him. ‘A take-away, in other words.’

  ‘Bill made a scene in Sainsbury’s,’ Larry said, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘I got stopped by a security guard. People were looking at me. I couldn’t do a thing with him. He was uncontrollable.’ He undid the second button of his polo shirt as though the memory choked him.

  Megan laughed. ‘So? You’re bigger than he is.’

  Larry looked at he
r with darkening eyes. For a moment they were both silent.

  She kicked off her shoes. ‘Has he eaten?’ she asked.

  ‘He had something at playgroup.’

  ‘What time was that? Larry — it’s gone seven-thirty!’

  ‘He’s slept ever since we came in.’

  ‘He won’t sleep tonight, though, will he? And he must be starving. You should have woken him up — no wonder he was upset.

  ‘Yeah,’ Larry said. ‘I thought of waking him up but I was glad of the peace.’ He shut his eyes. ‘I’m aching all over.’ He struggled ineffectually to get to his feet.

  ‘Oh, just stay there,’ Megan said, her exasperation turning to the beginnings of anger, ‘I’ll do it myself.’

  She went into the hall and unbuckled Bill from his pushchair. As she lifted him out and kissed his cool head, she noticed the bell on the handle.

  Bill twisted his face at the unwelcome intrusion and opened his eyes and looked at her. His features relaxed again. ‘Where’s Larry?’ he asked.

  ‘Larry?’ She smoothed the hair from his forehead. ‘Daddy, to you,’ she said. ‘How about something to eat? Spaghetti hoops on toast?’

  Bill nodded and kissed her blouse.

  ‘You,’ she said softly, hugging him, ‘what am I going to do with you? My lovely boy.’

  Bill smiled in her arms.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, carrying him into the kitchen. She popped her head round the door. ‘Spaghetti hoops for three.’ She looked at the dishes still to be done. She’d need that champagne. And as househusbands went, she thought grimly, looking for the can opener, she did so hope she wasn’t going to find herself married to a slattern.

  23

  Megan was holding the phone with a tighter grip than was necessary for a call from her stay-at-home husband. Nigel was out of the office, the phones were going mad and Larry was taking up valuable call time. ‘No,’ she said again, ‘I do not know what size shoes Bill takes. His feet couldn’t have grown overnight, could they?’ She looked up at Lisa who caught her eye and winked unexpectedly. Megan huddled over the phone, surprised by the gesture. ‘Larry, have you checked that there’s nothing inside them?’ A sigh. ‘Okay.’ She put the phone down and said to Lisa, ‘A Power Ranger.’

  In Zelda’s absence the relationship between Megan and Lisa had generally settled down to an amicable wariness. They were too different to be friends, and sometimes they knocked sparks off each other, but as far as the Colgin Partnership was concerned, it looked as if this dual energy was working.

  Lisa was reading through Megan’s notes and writing down her own comments on a large white pad in front of her. The window was open and she kept her hand on the pad to stop the pages from flicking up.

  Megan watched her, sitting back in her chair, letting the breeze play over her face. Her fair hair fluttered. A Power Ranger, she thought, recalling Larry’s phonecall with slight dismay.

  Lisa had come to the end of her notes and had stopped writing. She was staring into space as though listening to some private conversation that only she could hear. Her dark hair, Megan noticed, was untouched by the draught, but her skirt fluttered occasionally and fell still.

  Lisa suddenly turned her attention to Megan. ‘Why has Larry never been considered for the Triton job? Triton have a similar corporate structure to Burgess McLane, they use the same software systems and Larry is used to working on his own initiative.’ She smiled a salesman’s smile. ‘He fits the briefing.’

  ‘He was never on the board at Burgess McLane.’

  ‘What sort of an answer is that? Tell him it’s a goal stretch. Or are you happy being looked after?’

  Megan laughed at the incongruity of the statement. ‘Looked after?’ she said. ‘I wish.’

  ‘Would he be interested, do you think?’

  In promotion and another car and nah nah nah-nah nah to Burgess? In a leap from group head to broadcast director? Oh, he’d be interested, that was for sure. Whether he would be interested in setting himself up for another fall was a different matter altogether.

  ‘I think we should add him to the list of preliminary candidates,’ Lisa said. ‘In fact, I think Larry’s our man.’

  Megan tilted her head to one side and regarded Lisa carefully. And Lisa stared back, as unaffected by Megan’s gaze as she would be if she was looking in a mirror.

  ‘Why?’ Megan asked curiously. ‘You virtually said you wouldn’t have picked him for the BNM job. How can you think he’s got a chance with Triton?’

  Lisa uncrossed her legs, folded her arms and leaned forwards. ‘Look at the guy,’ she said emphatically, her voice reverting to the seductive undertones she used to persuade people by phone. ‘He’s lost some confidence, okay? But he’s right for Triton, for the reasons I’ve already given. I can feel it. I can feel it here,’ she said, touching the back of her neck and gliding her fingers back down slowly. ‘If we put him up for it, it will bring back his confidence and what’s more, when he sees the package he’ll want it. Oh yes, he’ll want it, make no mistake.’

  Megan blew air slowly out of her mouth while she thought about it and tried to forget that this was her husband they were talking about and dissecting and planning on manipulating like an animated cartoon. ‘Zelda’s never considered Larry for Triton,’ she said.

  ‘But she wasn’t working on it, was she? And she’s not here, is she? It’s our job now.’

  Megan pushed her blonde hair back off her face. Forget he’s your husband, he’s another candidate, that’s all, Megan told herself. What’s important is his experience, his aptitudes, his character.

  She felt warmer. Getting hot.

  Lisa, it had to be said, had summed him up perfectly. Again. If he knew he was being considered, he’d want it, oh boy, yes. Fair play and loyalty didn’t come into it. Objectively, objectively she could see that he fitted the brief, and a snug fit it was, too. She could see it so clearly that she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself. She’d been too eager to push Jeremy Squires. And too modest to propose her husband, that was it. No. The truth was she never would have thought of him. It had taken Lisa to do that.

  Lisa had a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth which meant she was smiling. Megan looked up and the quirk was there now.

  Megan felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, but for a different reason.

  The woman was uncanny. She could read minds.

  ‘I’ll give him a call,’ Lisa said.

  *

  That evening Larry told her all about his new method of topping and tailing beans. She picked Bill up and hoisted him onto her hip as she watched her husband patiently in the humid warmth of the steamy kitchen. It was so steamy she could hardly see him.

  ‘Here are some I prepared earlier,’ he said, indicating the row of French beans on the chopping board. ‘One cleaver.’ He brandished it, for her attention, and brought it down twice, with enormous blows that cleaved clean down the board. The pointed ends of beans, like pixie caps of various sizes, scattered around them with the force of the blow. A few fell onto the floor.

  Larry grinned. ‘What a time saver!’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you do each one in turn, taking you ages!’

  ‘Can I have a try, Larry?’ Bill asked, leaning forward out of her arms.

  ‘No, son. This is man’s work.’

  Megan knew that Larry was waiting for his accolade. All she could see was beans a uniform five centimetres long. That was a lot of waste, whichever way she looked at it. ‘Saves time,’ she agreed. ‘I suppose you did it to the sugar snap peas, too.’

  Larry grinned. ‘Nice try, Meg.’ He picked up the saucepan from the hob to show her.

  Megan looked at the handful of tiny peas scattered on the bottom of the pan. ‘You shelled them?’

  ‘I used to love doing that when we got them from the garden. They were bigger than this, too. Huge things.’

  Bill put his hands on each side of her face and looked into her eyes. ‘And, Mummy, we’ve bee
n playing rolling the marble at the soldiers.’

  ‘The Elvises,’Larry said.

  ‘The elveses,’Bill said, correcting himself for her.

  ‘You are clever,’ Megan said, rubbing Bill’s nose with her own. ‘No playgroup today?’

  ‘We went this morning. We came back for lunch.’

  The itsy-bitsy mothers were losing their attraction, she thought cynically. Well; she’d heard about French beans, peas and toy soldiers. Either Larry was keeping the best till last, or the thought of a job was slipping into second place, behind the housework.

  ‘What did you think of Lisa’s approach?’

  Larry was scooping up the beans and putting them into another pan. Some of them got mixed up with the tops and tails. More waste. The steam continued to billow out of the pans and roll across the kitchen ceiling.

  ‘Did you put her up to it?’

  ‘No! No, not at all. She had to talk me into it, in fact.’ Larry looked up from his pan and grinned ruefully. ‘Thanks, wife. That bad, eh?’

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, Meg, me old girl, I know what you mean.’ He gave the beans a stir, frowned, and pulled out a pixie hat with his spoon.

  ‘Well?’

  He gave her a slow, lazy smile through the steam and gave the beans a slow, lazy stir. ‘So? Bloody marvellous!’ he said. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this one. It’s like Christmas.’

  She hit him hard on the arm.

  ‘Ouch, what’s that for?’

  ‘Larry, you are a rotter,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you mention it when I came in?’

  ‘I was saving it.’

  ‘Saving it!’ She hit him again.

  Larry rolled up his sleeve and looked at his arm. ‘Look at that mark! Behave yourself and go and give Bill his bath. By the time you’ve read him a story the meal will be ready.’

  Megan grinned at him.

  ‘Well go on then woman!’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Megan said.

  ‘You’re not crying, are you?’ Larry asked her in a mock-shocked voice. ‘What an odd mother you’ve got, Bill.’

  She fanned the steam with her hand and smiled at Bill. ‘I’m not crying, honest,’ she said, heading for the stairs. She shouted back the last bit. ‘It’s just my eyes misting up.’