by Adele Parks
Of course it was impossible. She couldn’t tell him about the meetings with her old boyfriends. At the moment they couldn’t talk to one another about setting the Sky Plus box without rowing. How could they possibly navigate a conversation about exes? For a start, she’d have to confess that she hadn’t been out with Becky at all last night. Then she’d have to explain that recently she’d become ill with the thought that she and Neil were not suited to one another and that would mean they’d have to talk about his desire for babies and her reasons for not wanting one. No. No way. It was impossible.
Nat glanced around the bedroom; she was looking for her left shoe. It wasn’t under the bed or near the bedside table. Where was it? It had to be somewhere. Last night she’d taken off her shoes in this room, here was the right shoe to prove it. She couldn’t have got home wearing just one shoe, so where the hell was it now? And why wasn’t Neil helping look for it? Was he punishing her for coming home drunk? Or was it bigger than that? She feared that, nowadays, on some level he was constantly punishing her for not agreeing to have a baby. His entire attitude of late had been remote and irritable. During the first month of Neil’s campaign for a baby, he had been as sweet as it was possible for any man to be. He’d repeatedly tried to demonstrate his paternity potential by being thoughtful, helpful and reliable. Nat had been inundated with bunches of flowers and impulse purchased bars of Dairy Milk chocolate. She’d benefited from numerous home-cooked meals and Neil making an effort to put the loo seat down. But then something changed around the beginning of October, he had become sulky and grumpy and too often he was drunk. Nat didn’t think he was helping his case for being seen as ideal father material, but as she didn’t intend him ever to be a father, she thought she’d resist saying so and simply ride out his moods.
Neil was at a loss. The problem was that despite putting hours of thought into the matter he could not imagine why Nat might refuse to have children. He was terrified that the only explanation was the least welcome, the most cruel. She was having an affair. She was in love with someone else. The oft repeated chant that she’d ‘always said as much’ simply didn’t seem explanation enough for not having a baby. She liked kids, she was good with them, she would make a wonderful mother; he didn’t doubt that for a moment. Neil had wondered if his wife doubted his ability to be a decent, responsible parent. When Neil saw that his consideration was having no effect on Nat’s decision to remain childfree, he became withdrawn, absent and awkward. He channelled all his thoughtfulness, charm and joy into Cindy and Heidi. If questioned (although no one ever did question him, not even Cindy, certainly not Nat) Neil might have admitted that, yes, perhaps he was meeting Nat’s uncooperative behaviour with his own, but then it was hard for a man to find the enthusiasm to hunt for a court shoe when his wife was refusing to have so much as a cursory glance around for her maternal instincts.
Like a couple of kids they resentfully pointed a metaphorical finger at one another and cried, ‘You started it.’ They lacked a third party who cared enough to insist someone must ‘finish it’, the way exasperated parents did with argumentative children.
‘We need to talk,’ said Neil flatly. He rolled on to his side and finally looked directly at her. Nat was on her knees next to the bed, taking her fourth look under, just in case her black patent court shoe happened to suddenly, magically appear. Their eyes were level, although nothing else between them was. Inwardly, she froze but she was careful not to slow up her movements, even for a moment. She was pretty sure this comment translated to, ‘I need to reiterate my case for you giving up your job to incubate my sperm.’ She didn’t want to hear it all again, certainly not this morning.
‘Isn’t that supposed to be my line?’ Natalie mumbled flippantly. Then she reached under the bedside chest of drawers where there was nothing other than fluff and hair, yuk, she must remember to hoover under there.
‘I’m serious, Nat, we have to talk.’
Sometimes Nat resented the fact that Neil was able to communicate. Her friends all told her how lucky she was that Neil was able to discuss, debate and theorise on subjects other than football fixtures but Natalie wasn’t sure. On days like today, days when she was guilty and hung-over, confused, when she had a meeting with her boss, she was late and she couldn’t find her shoe, Natalie wished Neil was a typical bloke, who limited communication to the occasional grunt and then only when he’d lost the TV remote. A typical bloke who didn’t yearn for babies.
Instead of responding to Neil’s comment, Natalie stared despairingly at the jumble of books, magazines, coffee cups and discarded clothes that littered their room.
‘We need to sort this place out. It’s a tip. Ah-ha! There it is.’ Natalie pounced on her shoe like some sort of ninja. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Neil. I can’t talk right now. I’m late. I’m sorry.’
Neil thought that in fact he was the sorry one. He knew what Natalie meant when she said sorry. She wanted to say, ‘I’m not sorry at all but I need to get out of the door and this is what you want to hear.’ And she meant, ‘You’ll be sorry.’ She was right; they did work against their gender stereotypes. He realised he wasn’t going to get anywhere this morning. Maybe he’d try for answers again tonight.
‘By the way, Ali called last night,’ he said.
‘Oh yes?’
‘She’s asked us round for dinner tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes. That’s not a problem, is it?’ Neil asked suspiciously.
‘Well, I had plans tonight,’ said Nat haltingly.
‘Who with?’
Becky.’
‘Again? You saw her last night.’
‘No, I— Well, yes. I meant that tonight we have plans to work late. We have to run a critical cost analysis on a new project. It’s big. Very big.’
Neil wasn’t convinced but nor was he prepared to believe that all was lost. ‘Don’t be a lunatic. You can’t work tonight, it’s Friday night. Besides, Ali was pretty insistent so you’ll have to cancel Becky. I said we’d go. We can’t let her down,’ he said firmly.
‘OK, I’ll cancel my plans,’ Nat replied simply.
Neil let out an enormous sigh. See, no affair, he reassured himself. Otherwise she wouldn’t have changed her plans for Ali. He was being insane even imagining Nat could have an affair. Nuts. Relief and gratitude washed over him. He didn’t want her to go, leaving an atmosphere between them. Showing sudden agility and determination, Neil jumped out of bed and just as she was almost out of the room he caught her by the arm. He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. He wanted her to feel cocooned but she felt trapped. Her body was rigid beneath his touch. He tried to kiss her on the lips but she was still looking round the room trying to locate something, perhaps an earring or a file, not his gaze, that much was for sure. His kiss scratched up against her cheek.
She put her hand to her face and said, ‘You need a shave, you’re all prickly.’
She wasn’t wiping the kiss away, more trying to catch it and hold it tight as they hadn’t been doing much kissing recently but Neil misunderstood the gesture and felt rejected. There had been a time, really not so long ago, when if he ever leant in to kiss her she would clasp his face in both her hands and hold on tightly. Her fingers were always cold, his cheeks were always warm. She loved to feel the bristles of his shaving shadow tingle under her fingertips. Now, she treated him as though he had an infectious disease.
‘I’m thinking of growing a beard,’ he joked, as he let his grip on her slip.
‘Haven’t we got enough problems?’ Her retort was supposed to be funny but the comment fell heavily into their history; too close to the truth to raise a laugh.
‘You’ll definitely come tonight, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Natalie, although he could hear that her agreement was reluctant.
Neil didn’t want to think of Cindy but suddenly an image of her twenty-three-inch waist and thirty-six-inch bust erupted into his brain. The thing about Cindy w
as that she was never, ever reluctant.
28
Neil watched as clusters of parents dashed along the street, presumably heading home, or to the supermarket or a coffee shop, having completed the school drop-off. They were identifiable as parents, not only because some pushed empty strollers, having deposited their toddlers at pre-school, but because they seemed to walk with a sense of confidence and purpose. At least, that’s how it appeared to Neil. These people had a reason. These people knew why they were on the planet, why they shopped and cooked, why they cleaned their houses, why they did or did not go to work. Every decision, immense or minute, made sense to parents.
There were mostly mums but there was the occasional stay-at-home dad. The dads who’d opted (or been pushed) into the role as main care provider always looked overly earnest or exhaustingly enthusiastic. As two such dads walked past him, Neil heard snatches of a conversation about a robot that used sensors to navigate itself around the floor and so the robot could wash, scrub and dry tile, linoleum and sealed hardwood floors. Neil was unsure whether the invention was real or just a figment of the dad’s imagination but it was clear that even in this field boy-toys were of paramount importance. This thought was confirmed when he spotted one dad riding a skateboard that was ingeniously attached to the back of a pushchair, allowing him to skate along and push the buggy at the same time. Neil stared in admiration and only just resisted asking if he could have a go. He had already noticed that the dads he watched in coffee shops were often to be found reading the latest parental manual, which they liberally referred to and quoted from throughout their conversations. Neil wouldn’t mind taking on the lion’s share of the childcare, if he was ever given the chance. The parents walked in chatty groups. He heard one or two huddles debate Costa over Starbucks and then watched them wander in the appropriate direction. They wore a uniform, these parents, and Neil did not mean the uniform of beige shapeless slacks and blue and white striped tops (although those were spotted in abundance), they all wore a similar expression. They all looked contented and fulfilled. They all looked happy. Happy enough.
He’d once (or twice or maybe more often than that) pointed out as much to Nat. She’d argued that parents were always happy and content just after they’d dropped their kids at school; it was because they relished the time to themselves. She’d rolled her eyes in exasperation as she’d delivered her retort. But Neil wasn’t a jerk. He could see that they weren’t all doing a full song and tap routine, he realised being a parent was hard graft but, on the whole, the parents he saw looked happy, some looked ecstatic and he didn’t believe it was all due to the fact that they had a few uninterrupted hours to buy groceries and drop off dry-cleaning. He believed it was because these people, these parents, were happy. Why couldn’t Nat see that? Why wouldn’t she even look in that direction and acknowledge that having a family might be the best thing ever? She had argued that they were happy as they were but in the last couple of weeks she hadn’t bothered saying that any more. Probably because she knew it wasn’t an argument that would hold up.
The parents drifted away and then the streets were awash with gangs of hooded teenagers (presumably bunking school, having been to registration) as well as determined, lone pensioners bundled up beneath layers of hats, scarves and gloves who were heading towards Hammersmith with the intention of pulling the shopping trollies around Primark and Marks and Spencer. Neil watched a cat cross the road and then settle on the boot of a car that had just been parked. He waited outside Hush Hush for forty minutes until he heard voices inside and the sound of keys as someone unlocked the door. He realised hanging about a strip joint early in the morning was a new all-time low but he didn’t care. He had to see Cindy.
Three cleaners greeted him. Two of them looked like a female Laurel and Hardy and clearly thought they were funnier still. ‘Mrs Hardy’ (who was undoubtedly in charge) shook her head disapprovingly, her disgust registered all over her body as her hips, thighs and upper arms seemed to shake in protest too.
‘What you doing here at this time of the morning?’ she demanded crossly. ‘Haven’t you got a job to go to? Or a home?’
Neil wasn’t sure how to answer that. In theory at least he had both and yet, here he was, outside Hush Hush waiting for Cindy.
‘Mrs Laurel’ lingered in the background and sniggered. She was more amused than disgusted. The third cleaner (the only one actually doing any work) tutted as she threw mops and buckets into a cupboard behind the reception. She took off her apron and thrust it into her shopping bag and then shoved past Neil and her gossipy colleagues. She at least was keen to go home; she did not want to have to spend a moment longer than necessary in the place.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she muttered at her co-workers and then vanished up the street.
Mrs Laurel and Hardy were not in such a hurry to leave. Neil got the sense they didn’t hurry anywhere or anything.
‘You’re a good-looking lad. What you doing hanging around a place like this? You don’t manage any of the girls, do you? I’d know your face if you did. I know all the managers.’
Neil felt uncomfortable that he’d been mistaken for what amounted to a pimp but accepted that it was a reasonable assumption to make under the circumstances. He rushed to explain he was a regular client, not a position he ever imagined he’d be keen to admit to. He explained that he desperately wanted to see Cindy as he had something important to talk to her about. The two women exchanged a look which explicitly declared him to be a saddo.
Neil would have been surprised to learn that ‘Mrs Hardy’ had once been a dancer, back in the sixties. Ruby, she’d been known as then. She’d reduced men to weeping, trembling lumps of desire in her time. Ruby liked to declare that there was nothing she hadn’t seen, nothing she didn’t know when it came to lust. So she was intrigued to see this man at the door of the strip joint so early in the morning because he didn’t look like your usual desperado. By the look of him you’d have thought he had more compassion than that, more sense at least. Ruby scrutinised Neil again. He did have a funny look in his eye, mind. A look she’d come to be wary of, the one that said obsessive. And why else would a man be here at this time unless he was a complete loser? Ruby saw it as her unofficial job to look after the girls, especially when the bouncers weren’t around. She knew for a certain fact that Cindy was inside having a coffee and putting her make-up on, killing some time before she took that lovely girl of hers off to nursery. Cindy was working the day shift today which began at 11a.m., but Ruby was not going to let on as much to this strange man.
‘Well, love, none of the girls get here until about lunchtime. Sorry, you’ll have to come back then.’
‘Is there anywhere I can wait?’
‘Out here on the pavement, if you must.’
‘Please, it’s important.’ Neil reached out towards Ruby. His intention was to rest his hand on her arm in a winning way but she was used to rougher treatment and thought he might be about to grab her so she used her best weapon – her large gob.
‘GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!’
Startled, Neil jumped away but Ruby’s protest had been heard inside. Within seconds the beefy bouncer and the werewolf barman were at the door.
‘What’s up, Ruby?’
‘This man was going to hit me,’ Ruby declared. She lived a drab life but was rather fond of a drama, so she never missed an opportunity to orchestrate one. The other cleaner was a more peaceful woman and felt compelled to defuse the situation.
‘Now, Ruby, he wasn’t. He just wants to see one of the girls. We were telling him to come back later.’
Neil’s heart beat at a hundred miles an hour. Oh crap, the enormous bouncer was going to kill him. He was going to be murdered outside a strip joint on a Friday morning. It occurred to him that his mother would never survive the shame. He wanted to protest his innocence but things were happening too quickly. The bouncer looked as though he was squaring up, both the women were talking at once, they were saying opposing thing
s but it didn’t matter because no one could hear them as they were both high-pitched and hysterical. With relief Neil realised that the werewolf barman was saying that he recognised Neil and that he was a very regular customer but Neil didn’t know if the emphasis on very was going to help him at that moment. Did being a regular customer work for him or make him sound like a jerk or, worse, a stalker? Suddenly he heard Cindy through the din.
‘What the hell is going on? Can’t a girl do her eyeliner in peace? Oh, hi, Neil. You’re early today.’
‘Sorry,’ muttered Neil. It was the first word he’d managed to chuck up.
‘So what’s going on?’ Cindy asked.
‘He was going to hit me,’ said Ruby but this time she made her accusation with a lot less confidence and everyone knew that her statement was questionable.
‘Neil? He wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ said Cindy. Neil was surprised to discover that he was relieved and vaguely offended at the same time. He felt that Cindy’s assertion, and the bouncer’s easy acceptance that she was probably right, was somehow an assault on his manhood. Still, at least no one was going to break his nose or legs.
The cleaners, sensing the drama was over, instantly disappeared and the werewolf went back to the cellar. It was delivery day, he had to stock up for the weekend, and he didn’t have time for this. The bouncer eyed Neil suspiciously for a moment longer and muttered, ‘I’m watching you, son.’ But his manner of speaking now caused Neil to feel amused rather than threatened as he sounded exactly like some tough, old-time copper off The Bill; a parody rather than the real thing. Besides, Cindy’s presence somehow made him feel safer and braver.
