The Man I Didn't Marry

by Anna Bell

  Judy stands back upright and turns to me.

  ‘I’m glad that you’re here without Max so we can brief you up.’

  ‘Brief me up?’ I say, slipping my shoes off and padding down the hallway.

  ‘Oh yes, so we all have the cover story straight.’

  ‘OK…’

  ‘So,’ she says, leading me into the kitchen and waving her hand to present Graham who’s sitting at the table. I do a double take because he doesn’t look like the usual Graham that we all know and love; he’s now in Technicolor.

  ‘Hi, Graham. Are you… OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine apart from looking like I’ve been Tango’d,’ he says, glaring at Judy, his arms are folded.

  I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at the fact that he’s bright orange.

  ‘Dare I ask?’

  Graham shakes his head and then pulls me out a chair at the table for me to sit down.

  ‘Graham had to go and get a fake tan for his cover story,’ says Judy.

  ‘Ah, this famous cover story, which is what exactly?’

  ‘Well, you know that he’s supposed to have been off playing golf with Mick – and we’ve seen what colour he is.’

  ‘I still don’t see why we couldn’t have just said that I used Factor 50,’ says Graham, tutting. ‘Do you know how ridiculous I felt? I had to go into a little booth and they gave me paper pants.’

  I try with all my mental might not to picture him in paper pants, but I fail miserably and now I don’t think I’m going to be able to look at Graham in the same way ever again.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to ruin my bathroom to do it. Besides, Max would probably see the signs or recognise the smell,’ says Judy.

  She’s giving Max too much credit. Like most men he’s naturally unobservant; Graham could dye himself purple and he’d barely notice.

  ‘It’s still ridiculous. I had to come over here in a hoodie in case anyone recognised me.’

  ‘Which looked even more ridiculous than the tan. You looked like one of those ASBOs.’

  I laugh. I should correct Judy that an ASBO is a police charge and not a generic term for a young person.

  ‘How’s it been with Mick?’ I ask. Graham scoffs loudly. He’d taken Mick’s sudden departure badly too. He’d felt cheated that his best friend hadn’t confided in him. Which ultimately pushed him closer to Judy as they comforted each other, and now with the two of them dating it looks even less likely that Mick and Graham will ever be friends as they were before. ‘Have you two spoken?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ says Graham.

  ‘I’ve told the two of them that they’re going to have to pretend to be civil with each other, even if it’s just when Max is around,’ she says, putting her hands on her hips.

  ‘We’re not all good at acting like you are, Judy. What Mick did,’ he says, getting cross, ‘it’s hard to forgive.’

  ‘Mick won’t talk to him either,’ says Judy. ‘He says that Graham took my side from the beginning and it was all because he wanted me for himself.’

  Graham blushes.

  ‘That wasn’t true.’

  ‘I know,’ says Judy.

  ‘It seems a shame – you two were best friends for years,’ I say.

  ‘And he was also married to Judy for years,’ says Graham.

  Judy plonks my tea down in front of me and it splashes over the sides.

  ‘You know, if it’s easier, we could just tell Max the truth,’ I say.

  ‘Thank you,’ says Graham. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying. Save us all pretending.’

  ‘We can’t. Ellie, we’ve been through this: I’m not letting him get hurt unnecessarily. We’re just going to have to grin and bear it.’

  The back door to the kitchen opens and Graham sits up straighter. Mick strolls in with a tennis racquet in his hand.

  ‘Look, I found one,’ he says, swinging the tennis racquet a little too enthusiastically and it nearly knocks over the mug tree.

  ‘Careful, they’re Royal Doulton,’ shrieks Judy.

  ‘Royal Doulton, my arse. They’re Marks and Spencer’s and you know it,’ says Mick.

  Judy folds her arm and the two of them look like squabbling children. I dread to think what it’s like when I’m not here.

  The front door rings and everyone freezes.

  ‘Everyone act natural,’ calls Judy like a film director. ‘Ellie, you get it.’

  I do as I’m told and when I answer the door Max holds up a brown paper bag of gingerbread before he follows me back into the kitchen.

  Mick’s leaning up against the worktop, casually resting his tennis racquet around the back of his neck. Judy’s grabbed a tea towel and is standing by him. Graham’s sat down at the table holding the newspaper in front of him. So much for natural.

  ‘Darling, how are you feeling?’ says Judy, gliding across to him and putting her arm around his shoulder.

  ‘Um, I’m OK,’ he says, looking round at everyone and their catalogue poses. ‘I’m sure Ellie told you that I still can’t remember. Hi, Graham, um, nice to see you.’

  ‘Good to see you too,’ he says, getting up and shaking hands.

  Max studies Graham’s hands but doesn’t say anything about his colour.

  ‘Did you have a good holiday?’

  ‘Yes, it was excellent. We stayed at the Quinta do Lago resort near Vilamoura and it was fantastic. I would heartily recommend it,’ he says in a robotic voice that makes me think he’s been forced to rehearse.

  ‘Great,’ says Max. ‘I’ve not been to Portugal. I’ve heard it’s nice.’

  ‘Well, your father certainly likes it,’ says Judy before she elbows Mick in the ribs.

  ‘Ow. Excellent golf,’ he says. ‘And the food and the drink.’

  ‘Steady on, Dad, you’ll be getting Mum to retire out there next,’ says Max, smiling.

  ‘Ha ha ha,’ says Judy with canned laughter that would be right at home in any sitcom. ‘Did they cover much in your session today?’

  She tries to steer the conversation back onto safer territory.

  ‘This and that. Mainly stuff about what I could remember. Questions about you guys and the family.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so typical of psychotherapists, isn’t it? Blame the parents. It’s always our fault,’ she says.

  ‘No one said anything about fault. But she was asking me what had happened in the family and I realised that you’ve been filling me on my life and not anyone else’s.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Judy. ‘Well, you remember your grandpa died, that would have been six years ago. And then, Aunt Susan died a couple of years ago; she’s your grandma Lilian’s sister, so I doubt you’d remember her anyway. But other than that, all is the same. We’re still here in this house.’

  ‘Hmm,’ says Mick.

  Their house has been a bit of a sticking point in their divorce, but they’ve just about come to an arrangement and in the New Year the house is finally going on the market. It’ll be the end of an era for everyone, but I think it will do them the world of good to move on.

  ‘Right, so nothing significant has happened to you at all?’ he says. ‘It’s just my life that’s changed dramatically.’

  ‘Mmmhmm,’ says Judy through a forced smile. ‘Look, you’ve had a long day. Why don’t I make you a cup of tea? Talking about yourself can be exhausting.’

  ‘You’d know, you’ve had enough practice,’ says Mick.

  Graham throws him a look that makes me worried that he’s going to launch himself at Mick across the table.

  ‘Tea would be great, thanks, Mum,’ says Max, oblivious. ‘What’s with that tennis racquet, Dad?’

  ‘I dug it out of the shed. Thought we could play tennis like old times.’

  ‘We haven’t played tennis since I was about sixteen, or have we started to play again?’

  ‘No, we haven’t,’ says Mick, ‘but we’ve talked about it. We keep saying we’re going to.’

  ‘OK, well, if you think you’re up for
it.’

  ‘I’m up for it.’

  ‘OK, but you have to be careful, you know, if you’re not used to playing. At your age you have to think of your heart,’ says Max.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m as fit as a fiddle now. I go to three gym sessions a week.’

  ‘And he does Pilates,’ says Judy, folding her arms over her chest while she waits for the kettle to boil.

  ‘Pilates, you, Dad?’ says Max, screwing up his face. ‘I thought you said nothing had changed. Blimey.’

  ‘It’s actually very manly,’ he says.

  ‘’Course it is, darling,’ says Judy.

  ‘It is,’ he says with a huff. He puts the tennis racquet on the side and lies down on the floor before lifting his torso and his legs up at the same time, then reaching his arms towards his legs.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I say in pure amazement.

  Judy’s jaw drops and Graham does not look happy.

  ‘That doesn’t look too hard,’ says Graham and he gets off his chair. The next thing we know he’s lying on the floor next to Mick, trying the same moves, only he’s wobbling about all over the place.

  ‘Get up, Graham, you’ll do your back in,’ says Judy, pulling on his shirt.

  ‘Stop manhandling Graham,’ says Mick. ‘He’s OK.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says, puffing. His cheeks are going bright red, which is an improvement on the colour of the fake tan.

  ‘You don’t look fine,’ I say to Graham, who seems to be caught up in some macho competition. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you both stop.’

  ‘I’m. Perfectly. Fine,’ he pants, before he exhales loudly and collapses on his back.

  Mick laughs. ‘Now who says it isn’t manly?’

  Graham’s still panting from the exertion.

  Sasha, who’s been sitting on the floor, watching, goes over to Graham and sits on his belly, which makes us all laugh. I try and usher her away and she gets up and waddles over to Max.

  He picks her up and puts her on his knee.

  ‘Dada,’ she says. ‘Dada Pig.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Sasha Pig, oink, oink,’ Max says. Sasha bursts into fits of giggles and claps her hands.

  He looks up at us all staring at him; it’s such a contrast from his hands-off behaviour over the last couple of days.

  ‘I was saying that to her last night when we were watching Peppa Pig,’ he says, his cheeks flushing. ‘She seemed to like it.’

  He’s looking embarrassed as we’re all still staring.

  ‘She does, she loves it,’ I say, pleased they’re having a moment.

  ‘So, Max, when’s your next session with the psychotherapist?’ asks Judy.

  ‘Same time next week.’

  ‘What, really? You’d think that they’d do it a bit quicker, wouldn’t you, what with Ellie and the baby being due soon.’

  ‘I know, tick tock, it’s nearly baby o’clock,’ I say.

  ‘What are you going to do in the meantime?’ asks Graham.

  ‘Dad’s giving me a hand with the DIY and tomorrow afternoon I’m going up to meet my boss at work.’

  ‘You are?’ I say, surprised. I didn’t know he’d spoken to him.

  ‘Yeah, I just wanted to check in about the whole not going back thing. You were right, but he told me to pop in. He said that we could go through some of my projects and he would give me some files that might help fill in some of the blanks.’

  ‘Good for you,’ says Judy.

  ‘I could go with you, if you like?’ says Mick.

  ‘I’d like to go alone, if you don’t mind.’

  Judy and Mick look at me and I shrug my shoulders. We’ve not left him alone since it happened, but I guess we’ve got to do it sometime.

  Polly’s words from last night pop into my mind about recreating our memories and it gives me an idea.

  ‘Judy, would you mind babysitting Sasha for us tomorrow night?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Judy.

  ‘Max, perhaps I could meet you after you go to your office? I know you want some time on your own, but we don’t have to meet until the evening,’ I say to him. I’ve just the perfect place in mind. We could go to the mini-golf where we had our first date.

  ‘I guess that would be OK,’ he says, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Great,’ I say, ignoring his lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘It will be nice for you to go out on a date,’ says Judy, and I watch Max’s facial expression change and he no longer looks so sure.

  ‘Not a date. I thought we’d just go the pub, keep it nice and casual,’ I say hurriedly, and he visibly relaxes. ‘Plus, it’d be good to try and jog your memories by going to the places you’ve been to before.’

  ‘Sasha might as well stay over if you like,’ says Judy.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I say, thinking that would make the logistics easier.

  ‘Yes, we’ve still got the travel cot made up from the weekend. I said I was here to help.’

  ‘We’re here to help,’ says Mick, putting his arm around Judy and she pats him on the chest.

  ‘Great, thank you,’ I say.

  Max nods before he turns to Graham. ‘Are you OK – you’re still looking really red in the face?’

  I look over and see Graham’s nostrils flaring. I’m presuming it’s more to do with Mick’s arm around Judy than the Pilates.

  ‘Oh, don’t mind him; he always goes like a tomato whenever he’s exerted himself,’ says Judy, and I try not to wince. ‘I’ve seen him when he’s out running,’ she adds quickly. ‘Tea?’

  We all accept and this time she actually makes us a cup. Max turns to Mick and Graham and starts talking to them about football and I start planning in my head just how I’m going to recreate our first date. I can’t believe that I’m going through with Polly’s plan, but with his memory not coming back any time soon, I need to try and do everything I can to help it along.

  Chapter 10

  I’m on the train to meet Max, and I can’t remember the last time I was nervous about going on a date with him. I wonder at what point when I was dating him that those nerves disappeared and it just felt normal. If it was under any other circumstances, I’d probably enjoy the tingly feeling of anticipation.

  The train pulls into the station and I follow the hordes of people descending the stairs and moving into the tunnels underneath the tracks. I head to the St John’s Hill exit and I can’t help but smile when I head through the ticket barrier and spot Max waiting outside the coffee shop for me.

  ‘Hey you, come here often?’ I say, sidling up to him.

  He smiles awkwardly and I wish I hadn’t made a joke.

  ‘So, where’s this place we’re going to?’

  I tuck my freshly straightened hair behind my ears.

  ‘Not far from here,’ I say, disappointed that he hasn’t complimented me on how I look. I squeezed into some skinny maternity jeans and a plunging tunic top that gives me impressive cleavage, but he hasn’t noticed that I’ve made an effort at all.

  ‘How did it go at the office?’

  ‘It was nice to see Simon,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Which way is it?’

  ‘It’s this way,’ I say, wishing he’d be a bit more relaxed.

  We walk out of the mini shopping centre and on to the busy street outside. It’s just after 6 p.m. and people are weaving around us, rushing home from work.

  A big double-decker bus swoops towards the bus stop and Max flinches.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask. He backs away to the far side of the kerb.

  ‘It just took me by surprise,’ he says, and we start walking along again.

  ‘So, did you recognise people in your office?’ I ask.

  ‘Er, a few people are still there that I know. But there are a lot of fresh faces that I didn’t recognise.’

  ‘And what about the projects? Did Simon show you what you’d been working on?’

  He takes a deep breath.

  ‘He did,’ he says, without elaborating. ‘But I do
n’t want to talk about work. Simon’s not budging on the month off, so there’s nothing to say.’

  That’s me told then. I don’t know why he’s suddenly treating me with such contempt. Up until now, he’s not exactly been acting like my husband, but at least he’s been nice to me, even if he was treating me like his sister’s best mate. But this – this is different.

  We walk along in silence. This is so far from how I wanted it to be. I’d wanted to tell him about the night I’d bumped into him in the nightclub and how we’d come here on our first date – that wasn’t a real date – and how we’d got together, but the vibes he’s giving off are hostile.

  ‘Which pub are we going to?’

  ‘It’s called Four. It’s actually quite cool, it’s got a mini-golf course inside.’

  He stops walking for a second.

  ‘Mini-golf?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s fun. I thought we could play a couple of rounds. We’ve been before,’ I say, tailing off as he looks so unimpressed.

  ‘Will there be somewhere I can get a beer there?’ asks Max.

  ‘Uh-huh, it’s like a proper bar, just with mini-golf too.’

  ‘Good,’ says Max. ‘I could do with a few beers.’

  Me too, I think to myself, wishing I could actually have one.

  We reach the pub and I push open the door and we walk over to the barman to book a slot.

  ‘Hiya, can we do unlimited rounds of the crazy golf, please?’ I ask.

  The barman wrinkles up his face.

  ‘I’m really sorry, the crazy golf is closed at the moment; it’s being refurbished.’

  ‘But we came all this way,’ I say in disbelief. ‘I was on your website this morning and it didn’t say that it was closed.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it does, on the home page,’ says the barman, folding his arms.

  I pull my phone out of my bag to prove a point, but when the page loads, I can see it there in black and white. I’d seen that on the website there was no need to pre-book, and I hadn’t thought to scroll down any further.

  ‘But we came all the way from Fleet to play.’

  ‘I have no idea where that is; is that Zone 6?’ says the guy, squinting.

  ‘No, it’s even further than Zone 6.’