Men I've Loved Before

by Adele Parks

  Nat ate her share of mince pies, she joined her parents on their trip to the cathedral to listen to beautiful, soul-piercing carol singers perform, she bought and wrapped lavish gifts for everyone as usual and she even bought Christmas cards but she didn’t send them. When it came to it, she didn’t know what to write. She couldn’t sign them ‘With love from Natalie’ without adding ‘and Neil’. But she had no right to send cards from Neil any more. In the end she gave the unopened packs of cards to her mother, who always forgot to buy any until it was too late to catch the post.

  All those preparations had required Natalie to be disciplined, steely and aloof; a huge amount of determination had been necessary in order to avoid being sentimental about the lyrics of the Christmas songs (which were pumped out of every single sound system in every single store, in every single town). It took effort not to get maudlin after one too many at her office Christmas drinks party and an enormous amount of willpower to smile and endlessly reassure her friends and family that she was ‘Fine!’ when they asked. But that was nothing compared with the courage that was required when dropping off the presents at her in-laws’.

  Nat wished she’d accepted her mum or dad’s offer to come with her but she hadn’t wanted to hijack their Christmas morning. She knew that they liked to visit neighbours for a glass of sherry while the turkey was cooking; she’d promised she’d be home in time for the carving. Two out of three of her brothers had turned up within the last week, which was rather unexpected but welcome. Nina was fussing about there being enough food and preparing everyone’s favourites; she’d planned to cook nine vegetables, including sprouts (which, in fact, no one liked but it was traditional to put them on the table). Nina had been avidly rereading the old recipe books to get culinary ideas. To celebrate so many of her children being home (no matter what the circumstances) she’d planned an ambitious five-course meal.

  As a starter Nina was preparing duck pâté served on toast, the bread was to be home-baked (well, bread-maker machine baked to be exact, but it was almost the same thing). Then a light lime sorbet to clear palates in preparation for the turkey. Nat thought that two courses of fowl would undoubtedly have led to one of Neil’s habitual not-very-funny-but-you-can’t-resist-laughing sort of jokes. If anyone had got snappy or grumpy at the table he would have said, ‘Hey, Christmas is not a good time to be foul.’ Besides the wide array of vegetables, Nina had prepared a rum and raisin gravy (her mother’s recipe, not one she’d found in a magazine), then there was to be bitter chocolate and orange cheesecake, mince pies and finally a wide variety of cheese and biscuits. They ate Christmas pudding on Boxing Day; it was Brian’s idea of alternative. This meal demanded a huge amount of cutting, chopping, sautéing and panicking and so Nat knew that a trip to London on Christmas Day would be a nuisance for her parents.

  A thought struck Nat. What if Neil’s parents were visiting Ben and Fi? It was likely. What if Neil himself was there? The thought was chilling. Nat paused outside their house. She imagined that Neil would have entertained the entire family with all the gory details of their split, it would certainly be more entertaining than a traditional game of charades. Eileen and Harold Preston would know that she’d refused to furnish them with a grandchild, even though it had become Neil’s greatest desire, they’d know that she had then embarked on a series of flirtations and they’d know that in the end she’d slept with someone else. Oh God, the shame! Nat nearly turned back down the path. Perhaps she could leave the kids’ gifts on the doorstep. Maybe she could just ring the bell, leave the gifts and then run away, like some nineteenth-century women depositing illegitimate offspring with distant, wealthy relatives. She glanced at the step. It was awash with rain; the wrapping would get ruined.

  Nat was pretty certain Neil would not have admitted to spending nearly two thousand pounds at a strip joint or to kissing a stripper, or having an affair with her, if that was what he had done. Had he? Nat wished she could be sure. She thought he had. He said he hadn’t but the more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that he might have. Whatever. Nat shook her head in order to clear it. She wasn’t certain what to think about what may or may not have passed between Neil and his stripper but then it hardly mattered now, it was all history. Oh God! The worst thought suddenly slapped Nat. What if Neil was still seeing the stripper? What if they had become an official item? She might have left her husband for Neil. Why wouldn’t she? Neil was gorgeous. Nat quickly adjusted that thought in her head – at least, she used to think so. Neil might be playing dad to the stripper’s daughter. She might be inside Ben and Fi’s house right this moment. She might be sitting in Nat’s chair at the dining table. It was a vile, vile thought. Nat knew that she’d thrown away her marriage and she knew that there was no hope or chance of reconciliation but she wasn’t ready for someone else to sit in her chair with Neil and the family that, up until so recently, had been her own.

  Nat took a deep breath, gathered her courage and rang the doorbell. Fi had been looking out for Nat and she flung the door open almost immediately, before Nat had a chance to slip away. Fi imagined that this visit must be an ordeal for Nat but she reasoned many family visits were ordeals for many people over the Christmas period, it was almost traditional. She pulled Nat over the step, into the house and wrapped her in a big hug. Fi was flushed and jolly. Nat was unsure whether this was the sherry or the season. She had Giles on one hip and Sophia was dangling around her other leg.

  ‘Aunty Nats!’ cried Sophia in glee. She immediately swapped allegiance, deserting her mother’s hemline in order to launch herself at Nat. Nat swooped down and picked up the little girl. She buried her face in Sophia’s neck and inhaled. Sophia smelt wonderful. She smelt of chocolate (the kids had probably raided their selection boxes at about five this morning) and she smelt of home. Nat hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed Neil’s family until she was face to face with them again. Fi ushered Nat into the front room, where Ben, Angus and Harold were playing air hockey on an inconveniently large table.

  ‘Father Christmas didn’t check the room’s dimensions,’ explained Ben, raising his eyebrows and wrinkling his forehead in a parody of distress; he leant towards Nat and kissed her in greeting. Eileen was on the sofa with Fi’s mother – Nat had met her once or twice before. Both ladies hugged Nat. Nat was relieved, Neil clearly hadn’t dished the dirt; she was relieved and grateful. At least now she would be able to hand over the gifts, chat for ten minutes or so and then leave without too much trauma.

  The house seemed to be swarming with Fi’s siblings and nieces and nephews, various neighbours and friends. Nat stood by as the kids yanked off the wrapping from her gifts. They yelped their excitement and shouted, ‘Just what I wanted’ and ‘Yes!’ She was handed a drink, ‘I’ll have a juice, I’m driving,’ and offered plate after plate of delicious nibbles.

  ‘Caramelised onion tartlets with goat’s cheese and thyme,’ said Fi in a way that assured Nat she hadn’t just read the name of the treat on the packaging. ‘Bruschetta with tomato and basil,’ she tempted. The choice was enormous. Nat wondered how anyone would have any room left for lunch. That said, she couldn’t resist and helped herself to at least three Thai pork satay kebabs with coconut sauce and about half a dozen mini Yorkshire puddings with beef and horseradish.

  ‘Maybe you could take something up to Neil,’ suggested Fi.

  ‘He’s upstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nat wasn’t sure where she’d thought he might be today. She hadn’t wanted to think he might be home alone and yet discovering he was so nearby was upsetting too.

  ‘He says he’s setting up Angus’s Scalextric but to be honest I think he’s just keeping out of the way,’ explained Fi.

  Nat hesitated.

  ‘It’s Christmas, Nat, at least go and say hello. Surely that’s not too much to ask.’

  Reluctantly, Nat took the plate of food and trudged up the stairs.

  40

  Neil had showered that mo
rning. Not so much because it was Christ’s birthday but because Ben had said they’d have to drive to Clapham with the windows open if he didn’t, and it was an extremely cold day; Neil thought there was a reasonable likelihood that he’d get pneumonia if they had to do that. Now that Nat was standing in the doorway to his nephew’s bedroom, he was glad he’d showered; he only wished he’d shaved.

  He looked up from the Scalextric set and Nat thought that his eyes seemed to bore a hole directly through her ‘I’m doing OK’ façade. On many occasions he would spot that she was bored in company, even when she had put on her best hostess act, and he would notice when she was upset by some belligerent git loudly expressing some prejudiced notion, even though she might have responded reasonably rather than confrontationally. Could he see through her show of calm now? Could he tell that she was struggling? Suffering? She hoped so and yet she hoped not.

  ‘So you carried out your threat to grow a beard,’ said Nat. Her voice was unusually squeaky. She coughed, like a teenage boy trying to bring her means of communication under control.

  Neil fingered his chin. ‘Not so much an active decision, more—’

  ‘Neglect?’

  ‘Suppose.’ Neil shrugged.

  He looked terrible. There was no getting away from the fact. He seemed to have shrunk. His skin (which was grey) appeared to hang from his bones, his hair was lank and his eyes had dimmed. Nat guessed that he wasn’t having an affair with the stripper; there was nothing about this man that suggested new love or even a seductive liaison. He was heartbroken. Had the stripper dumped him?

  ‘You’re looking well,’ Neil said snidely. Nat thought that ‘well’ was probably taking it a bit far. She didn’t look quite as beat up as Neil did, her parents were making sure she ate regularly, she was groomed and clean, but if Neil looked closely he’d have noticed that her eyes had dimmed too.

  ‘I’m getting up and going out in the world, if that’s what you mean,’ she replied defensively.

  ‘Single life obviously suits you. Oops, what am I talking about? You’re not single, are you? You’ve got a boyfriend.’ Neil spat out the word ‘boyfriend’ with so much restrained aggression, it was as though he was cursing his own mother.

  Nat wondered if she should explain that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Her thing with Karl had been a one-off mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. But then what would be the point? It would only open old wounds, perhaps create new ones. Fi had mentioned in passing that Karl had been visiting Neil reasonably regularly (Nat had assumed this good Samaritan act was motivated by guilt) but if she started talking about the person she’d had sex with, Neil was bound to demand exactly who that person was. By the look of him, he needed all the support he could muster, even despicable double-crossing support. Besides, Neil didn’t want to talk. He’d made that much crystal clear. In the past seven weeks he hadn’t once picked up the phone to her. He hadn’t passed any comment on the fact that she’d left her key, and when her father had gone to collect her clothes, Neil had said he could take anything and everything, for all he cared. Nat had questioned Brian closely, and with reluctance Brian had admitted that Neil had not sent any message and, no, he had not inquired after her. His silence was thunderously loud. There was only one conclusion to be drawn: he didn’t want her. He’d managed to turn off his emotions just as though he was turning off a tap. Well, how could she be surprised, considering everything? Nat tried to tell herself that this silence was best all round.

  ‘You’d look better if you got dressed properly and had a bit of fresh air now and again, perhaps even went to work.’ Nat sounded exasperated. It wasn’t right that Neil had chosen to sit around and bemoan his circumstances indulgently. He was worrying everyone. Tim had called her a number of times and asked her to do something. But what? Even Karl had dropped her an email (cool and to the point, no mention of their night together) telling her that their manager was beginning to lose patience with Neil; a man in payroll whose wife had died of cancer hadn’t taken this long off work. Nat understood the point Karl was making. But what could she do?

  ‘You’re going back to work on Tuesday, right?’ she asked.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Or are you going back after the New Year’s bank hol?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘You are planning on going back to work at some stage, though, aren’t you, Neil?’

  ‘Not sure.’ On some level Neil was secretly enjoying this attention from Nat, although he would never admit to it. When Ben, Fi, Karl and Tim had all asked the same question, Neil had found their concern irritating and intrusive. Frankly, he wanted them all to sod off. He didn’t want them popping by and insisting he open windows, put a load in the wash or some food in his belly. But he did rather like Nat taking an interest. He liked making her feel guilty. She fucking deserved to feel guilty, she’d crucified him. And besides the fact that she deserved to feel guilty, he liked her taking an interest in him (even a clearly exasperated one) because it reminded him of old times when he had been her constant focus and she had been his.

  ‘What’s the point of going back to work? Who cares?’ he muttered.

  Neil sounded like a sulky teenager and Nat wanted to throttle him. This was so typical of him; typical that he’d simply give up on everything. OK, so his marriage had gone AWOL, so had hers! It was the same marriage, incidentally, hadn’t he noticed that? But she was still contributing to society; she was going to work, buying groceries, paying her mobile phone bill. People couldn’t just cave in when things got tough, no matter how much they might want to. Her father never had. He’d been left with her as a teeny, tiny baby and she could bet her last quid that all he must have wanted to do, when her mother died, was crawl under the duvet and shut out the world, but he hadn’t done that. Still, there was no point in her getting angry with Neil. Experience told her that would be fruitless and, besides, she was the last person with any right to do so. She accepted that this debacle was her fault, his reaction was his responsibility but she had instigated the disaster in the first place. She sighed deeply and tried to change the subject.

  ‘What did you buy the kids for Christmas?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘I didn’t get round to it,’ replied Neil with a yawn.

  ‘What?’ Nat’s patience and her intention not to get angry with Neil went up in smoke like a dry tinderbox.

  ‘I couldn’t face the shops and all that merriment. You might not have noticed, Nat, but I’m actually quite fucked up here.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve noticed, Neil. I’ve noticed and so has half of London. What must Angus and Sophia think? Giles is too young to notice but couldn’t you at least have bought them a selection box at the garage?’

  ‘I suppose you selected amazing presents, did you?’ It sounded like an accusation.

  ‘Yes, actually, I did.’ Nat had spent hours trying to decide between a Matchbox super blast fire truck and LeapFrog ClickStart My First Computer, for Angus. She saw it as a choice between fun or educational; put another way, Angus’s favourite versus Ben and Fi’s. The gigantic fire engine with lights, sounds, a moving hose and a function allowing kids to aim and shoot blue foam balls at the pretend blaze won out. Sophia had been easy, she got a dressing-up box complete with cow girl and princess outfits, and for Giles she’d had a small wooden bookcase carved in the shape of a lighthouse because his nursery had a nautical theme; it had been handmade by a local Guildford artist. She’d put hours into selecting their presents.

  ‘You are so unfit,’ Nat muttered. She hadn’t meant to make that comment aloud. It was something that had played around in her head for days and she’d meant to keep that thought trapped in there for ever; it was the last thing she’d wanted to say and he was the last person she’d wanted to say it to.

  ‘Unfit for what?’ he demanded.

  Nat bit down on her tongue. She literally put her hand across her mouth and tried to pull the words back into her mouth. But she couldn’t. Despite the last few months, Nat and Ne
il were in the habit of being honest with each other. So she told him what she thought.

  ‘This whole bloody mess started with you wanting a baby, Neil. And look at you. You are as self-indulgent as a teenager. You are a baby!’

  ‘Fuck off, Nat.’

  ‘Oh, very mature, very articulate.’

  Nat suddenly felt light-headed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and put her head between her knees. For a moment neither of them said anything. Nat took in the room. She’d been in here a hundred times before but today seemed to be the first time she’d really noticed it. Angus’s bedroom was like most four-year-olds’ rooms – a tip. Fi and Ben had at some point poured great attention and love into preparing this room for their firstborn. This was clear because of the cheerful colour scheme and the careful selection of fabrics and fittings but Angus had stamped his own personality on to the room every time he stamped a biscuit underfoot or hid a small Lego model under the bed. Three of the walls were painted a vivid blue, Fi said the colour reminded her of the best type of summer skies, the fourth was a buttercup yellow. There were glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling and the duvet cover and curtains also had stars all over them. There was an assortment of certificates Blu-tacked on to the cupboard doors, and propped behind clutter on the window sill and bookshelves. The certificates boasted achievements such as ‘Showing a caring attitude towards friends in the playground’ and ‘Careful play in the sandpit’. There were drawings of dinosaurs and aliens scattered over the floor next to felt tip pens, cuddly toys, small plastic models of characters and monsters, books, badges, bouncy balls and stickers. There was also a huge number of scraps of paper that looked like rubbish to the untrained eye, but Nat knew that the pieces of paper were part of an elaborate imaginary game that Angus endlessly played out like some sort of soap opera. She’d noticed the chaos many times before but today she saw something else, she saw charm and individuality. The bed was unmade, the surfaces were dusty and there wasn’t twenty centimetres squared of clear carpet space; instead, it was a dizzying, intoxicating centre of imaginative excellence. Nat tried to stay focused on a box of marbles in an attempt not to pass out.