Cold Feet: The Lost Years

by Carmel Harrington

  ‘Jenny,’ Pete warned.

  ‘Joke!’ Jenny said, holding her hands up. ‘Come on, lighten up everyone.’

  David smiled weakly at her, but he didn’t find it one bit funny. ‘You might refrain from those kind of jokes whenever Robyn is around.’

  ‘Course,’ Jenny said, winking at Karen.

  He’d seen the hurt on Robyn’s face when he’d told her about this lunch. To his shame, when Karen called him to tell him about it, the thought didn’t cross his mind to ask if Robyn could come along. Somehow or other, he’d managed to separate his life into two halves. One side with these friends, which still included his ex-wife Karen. And the other, with Robyn, that none of them were part of. And it hadn’t really bothered him up until this point.

  As his friends all laughed at the divorce lawyer jokes, he felt like he was betraying the woman he loved. He wasn’t sure how he was going to change the friendship dynamics, but somehow or other he had to try.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The melon and the terrified lady bits

  Didsbury Leisure Centre, Manchester

  Adam arrived at the leisure centre a few minutes early. He walked into the locker room and looked at the long timber bench that ran across the back of the empty room.

  Sleep.

  The word sneaked into his mind and once it was there, his body responded greedily. His eyes watered, stung, and when he yawned, every muscle in his body screamed out in protest. He threw his gym bag on to the hard wooden surface of the bench and lay down, using it as a pillow.

  Sleep.

  Just ten minutes would get him through the exercise class Jenny had booked for him, Pete and David. Since he returned to Didsbury, he’d only managed to snatch a few hours each night. And before that, he’d struggled to get more than four hours in a row. It was catching up on him.

  He closed his eyes, but then his mind opened, letting in random thoughts at galloping speed.

  Rachel.

  Is that the sound of a baby crying? Matthew? No. Sure he’s with Karen. He’s safe. But is he? I don’t think I’m feeding him enough. And what in God’s name was I doing, letting him have a lick of that Cornetto ice cream? Rachel wouldn’t like that. And what was up with the shit in his nappy this morning? Pea-green shite. Ha! Maybe he was eating asparagus!

  Pete. Something’s not right with him. That face he made when Jenny placed his hand on her tummy when the baby kicked earlier. What was that? Disinterest? Annoyance? Yep. There’s definitely something off there.

  Perhaps there’s an alien inside Jenny! I mean, now that I think of it, she has a look of yer man. Adam chuckled as Jenny’s face morphed into that of John Hurt.

  He should tell Rachel that one.

  Adam sat up. It was no use. His tiredness wasn’t curable with a quick nap on a hard bench. He suspected even going to bed early for a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure it. Last night, as he rocked Matthew back to sleep, he’d worked out that the last time he’d slept through the night, without bad dreams, or insomnia, was the night before Rachel died. They were both exhausted because Matthew had been colicky all day, crying and making sure that both of them felt his pain. And boy, did they feel his pain. When he finally closed his eyes, they fell into bed, her sticking her bum into him, the way she did, him pulling her head under his chin, the way he did, wrapping his arms around her. Spoon to spoon. And Matthew, the wee angel, had slept through the night. Eight glorious hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  But that was then. Sometimes, when he remembered his old life, he felt like he was watching scenes from a beloved movie. Had it really happened? If Matthew wasn’t here, he suspected that he might not believe any of it had.

  To be fair, this insomnia was nothing to do with their little man who still slept through the night. It was his brain that just wouldn’t shut down no matter how hard he tried. The weight of decisions he had to make each day as a single parent overwhelmed him. He missed the guidance of his wife. Like, right now, Matthew could do with a haircut. But it would be his first one. And Adam knew he couldn’t screw that up. Photographs would have to be taken, a single lock kept in a silver box. They’d received one as a gift for his naming ceremony and Rachel had been so excited for the day that they’d fill it with a treasured memento.

  Yesterday, after he caught Jenny trying to pull Matthew’s dark curls into two pigtails, he knew he couldn’t put off the haircut any longer. So he took him for a walk around Didsbury, looking for a potential salon. But he’d no sooner walk in the door of one, that he’d walk right out again. The music was too loud in one, and in another, he’d put money there was someone smoking weed in it. Then the way that young wan was waving her scissors around in Curl Up n’ Dye, it was tantamount to a blood-bath disaster.

  Rachel would have known where he should bring him. He’d bet that she’d already chosen the right salon, ready for the moment that Matthew needed his first cut.

  ‘Rach?’ He whispered to the empty locker room. Nothing. She’d been so quiet lately. His loneliness felt like it was going to swallow him whole.

  ‘You all right, mate?’ Pete shouted, running into the room, tossing his bag at Adam’s feet. ‘Looking a bit glum there.’

  Adam shrugged. ‘Just knackered.’

  ‘Well, that’s fatherhood for you,’ Pete replied, satisfied with Adam’s answer. ‘We better get ready. The class starts in five minutes.’

  ‘We could just head to the pub. She’d be none the wiser,’ Adam said as he tied up the laces on his trainers.

  The thought of a cold pint of lager made Pete lick his lips, but he shook his head, banishing the thought with a regretful groan. ‘We have to do this. There’s no arguing with a hormonal Jenny. You’ve seen what’s she’s like.’

  They both paused as they remembered the scene at breakfast that morning.

  They had walked into the kitchen and found her standing in front of a melon, with a large carving knife. Her eyes flared, her nostrils flared, even her hair flared. She then began to stab the melon, roaring as she plunged the knife into its red flesh.

  Adam had pushed a reluctant Pete forward towards her.

  ‘Why does it have to be me?’ Pete said, in a feeble attempt to dodge a hormonal bullet.

  ‘She’s your wife,’ Adam replied. ‘Plus, the way she’s waving that knife around, it would be irresponsible of me to go over. I mean, Matthew’s already lost one parent, he can’t lose another.’

  ‘A low blow, Adam Williams, using that old overused chestnut, my wife is dead,’ Pete said.

  ‘Grow a pair.’ Adam gave him a hard shove.

  Pete stumbled towards Jenny, who was looking at the poor dismembered melon with satisfaction. As he inched his way towards her, he asked, ‘Everything all right, love?’

  The look she gave him in response left him in no doubt of the answer. He took a step backwards.

  ‘All right? Me? Oh yeah, I’ve never been better.’ Jenny’s face had gone a funny colour. Red, with two large splotches of purple above each cheek.

  ‘That’s good, love.’ Pete was about to turn away, make a run for it, when a whimper stopped him in his tracks. ‘Ah love,’ he said, moving back towards her, arms outstretched. Two big fat tears rolled down Jenny’s face.

  Jenny pointed to the pulpy remains of the fruit and wailed, ‘This melon, well, that’s the size of what I’m expected to squeeze out of . . .’ her voice dropped to a whisper and she pointed down below ‘. . . my lady bits!’

  Pete winced. To be fair, that had to hurt. She started to wave the knife again, gesturing to her stomach. ‘And look at the size of me. I’m just one big disgusting lump. With a melon inside me that’s so big, so bloody enormous, I know it’s going to rip me apart.’

  Pete looked at Adam, who was now a funny shade of green. He mouthed silently to Adam, ‘I’ve got this.’

  Adam gave him the thumbs-up, but stayed back, just to be safe. Jenny was a passionate woman, and you never knew with her how she might react to any given situation. Throw
in the hormones, they might need to make a run for it.

  ‘You see, love, it might not be all baby melon inside you, making you look so fat,’ Pete continued.

  Jenny looked confused by his words, but his tone was kind and knowing, so she tried a brave smile.

  ‘Just think about all the rubbish you’ve been chucking down your throat, love. Chocolates, crisps, fried-egg sandwiches. You had two of those last night for a snack, remember?’

  Adam looked at his best friend in horror. What in the name of God was he saying? Had he lost his tiny mind?

  Pete was on a roll. ‘I’d say there’s a good chance a lot of that big “melon” in there . . .’ he patted her protruding belly, ‘isn’t all baby at all . . .’

  Don’t say it, you gobshite, Adam thought. Walk the fuck away.

  But Pete wasn’t on his wavelength and finished the sentence, ‘. . . you’ve just got really fat.’

  There was silence for about thirty seconds. Nobody spoke or moved. Adam never took his eyes off the knife in Jenny’s hand and wondered if those words would be the last that his gobshite friend ever uttered. Then with a loud clatter, Jenny dropped her knife to the counter top and started to wail.

  ‘It took me nearly an hour to calm her down,’ Pete said, leaning back against the gym locker door. ‘She cried a river. I think if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand women.’

  ‘Tip to the wise: never tell a woman they’re fat, you numpty!’ Adam threw his towel at him.

  But instead of laughing, irritation flashed across Pete’s face. ‘That’s me all right. Getting it wrong all the time. I mean, melon baby isn’t even mine. Yet somehow or other, I’m still getting it in the neck morning noon and night. I can’t do right for doing wrong.’

  Adam watched the pain on his friend’s face. Jenny was right. That’s what’s going on.

  He walked over to Pete and sat down beside him. ‘Hold on there a minute. The baby is yours, or will be in every way that matters.’

  But Pete wasn’t in the mood to discuss this. He ignored Adam and stood up, yanking his sweat pants out of the crack of his arse.

  ‘Snug fit.’ Adam joked in automatic reflex to a jibe that was laid open, ready for the taking. But Pete didn’t bite. There was none of the usual banter thrown back at him.

  Instead, Pete took a deep breath and pulled in his belly, which was hanging over the top of the sweat pants. Sighing, he said, ‘These fit perfectly the last time I wore them.’

  ‘When was that, back in 1981?’ Adam laughed, trying to lighten up the oppressive air that had suddenly clouded the locker room.

  ‘There’s that razor-sharp humour we all love to hate. You’ll cut yourself one of these days, if you’re not careful,’ Pete replied.

  ‘All right mate, relax would ya? I’m sorry. What’s really going on here?’ Adam asked.

  ‘You know, Jo only cooked organic healthy food. Six months ago, I was fit, slim . . . ish . . .’ Pete sounded nostalgic.

  ‘Hang on here a minute, you hated Jo’s cooking. You were always sneaking off to Kentucky Fried Chicken for a snack box,’ Adam replied.

  ‘That’s not the point. Jenny’s idea of healthy eating is to cook the chips in the oven, as opposed to the deep fat fryer! It’s no wonder I’ve piled on this much weight.’

  ‘So what are you saying here? That you miss Jo? That you regret breaking up with her and getting back with Jen?’ Adam asked.

  ‘No! Yes . . . no, of course not,’ Pete said.

  ‘That clears up that, so,’ Adam replied.

  Pete fell down on to the bench again, his shoulders hunched in defeat. ‘I can’t go into the class looking like this. It’s probably full of Jo types, all sexy in their tight Lycra. And men who look like Will Smith, with their muscles bursting out of vests.’

  ‘Ah, would you give over. You’re way too hard on yourself. I was only saying to Jenny the other night that you reminded me of a movie star,’ Adam said.

  ‘Do I?’ Pete’s face lit up with expectation. ‘Jenny did say that I looked like Bruce Willis in Die Hard 3 once.’

  ‘No, that’s not who I was thinking of. But I reckon there’s more than a passing resemblance to yer man Samwise from Lord of the Rings.’ He nudged Pete with his shoulder, to show him he was just joking, in the way he’d done with him for decades. Only problem was, this time Pete wasn’t laughing.

  ‘A hobbit. I look like a fucking hobbit. That’s about right,’ Pete said.

  Shite. They’d been best friends since sixth form, and part of their routine, part of who they were, was this banter. Jenny wasn’t wrong when she said that something was up with him. ‘Ah look-it, if you’re Samwise, then I’m Frodo. We’re both hobbits. I’ll even be the big hairy one.’

  Pete smiled, but it was forced and the air crackled with tension.

  A creak signalled the opening of the door to the locker room and they both jumped at the noise.

  ‘Now, that on the other hand is a sight to behold,’ Adam waved his hand towards the door.

  David swaggered in, wearing a pale pink tracksuit, with the collar upturned and a sweatband on both his wrists and under his mop of wavy blond hair.

  ‘Bet you feel better now,’ Adam said under his breath to Pete.

  ‘You’ve no idea.’ Pete jumped up to stand beside Adam.

  ‘So what exactly is this class Jenny booked us into?’ David asked. ‘She was most mysterious when she rang. Just said I had to be here, or there would be trouble. Then Karen rang and insisted I come too. I wouldn’t mind, but I could be on the golf course right now. It’s most inconvenient.’

  ‘Pilates,’ Adam and Pete said together.

  ‘Apparently, it can balance your life,’ Pete said. ‘Helps with stresses. All the craze now. It was your Karen that told Jenny all about it.’

  ‘She’s not my Karen any more. But I should have known she was behind it all. She can’t do without her weekly class of Pilates, it’s the only thing that keeps her sane. Apparently. And of course I’m the one paying through the nose for it every month! A load of mumbo-jumbo nonsense.’ David stuffed his gym bag into a locker, then took his tracksuit jacket off, revealing a bright green polo shirt underneath.

  ‘Nice colour. No chance we’ll lose you in that.’ Pete stuffed his hand in his mouth to stop laughing.

  ‘It is rather nice, isn’t it? Robyn bought one for each of us,’ David said.

  ‘His-and-hers clothes. Must be getting serious,’ Adam said. Teasing aside, he was happy for David. He’d had a rough year. ‘Listen, we might as well get it over and done with. I, for one, am not going to take on Jenny. As I told young Pete earlier, as a single parent, I can’t be taking any risks with my life.’

  ‘Quite right. And Karen would kill me if I back out,’ David replied. He wondered how she was today. She’d seemed quiet at lunch on Saturday. So much sadness behind her eyes. He’d text her later on, check in on her. Maybe he’d call in.

  ‘Hold on here a minute, I thought divorcing someone meant that you didn’t have to answer to them any more,’ Adam remarked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not a bit of it.’

  David and Pete replied at the same time, shaking their heads sorrowfully.

  ‘Divorcing Karen just means that now I have two women to answer to. It’s pretty tricky at times, I don’t mind telling you.’

  Adam slapped his shoulder and said, ‘Could be worse. You could have no woman to answer to.’ He meant it as a joke, but somehow or other it came out sounding all pathetic. And he felt tears sting his eyes again. What the hell was wrong with him?

  David’s smile disappeared instantly and he grabbed Adam’s arm. ‘Oh goodness, I’m ever so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I never meant . . . you know I’d never say anything . . .’ David, his face flushed red, bumbled his way through an apology.

  ‘Would you be wise. I know that. Blame my perverted sense of humour. Come on, lads, let’s brace ourselves. On the other side of that wall, fit women in Lycra awa
it us.’

  Shoulders back, they marched side by side to the hall and opened the double doors.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The achy breaky heart and a gin-soaked Peggy

  Didsbury Leisure Centre, Manchester

  ‘Shite,’ Adam said as he took in the big hall.

  ‘I don’t see any Lycra in here,’ Pete said.

  ‘This doesn’t look like any Pilates class I’ve ever seen,’ David added.

  They looked around the room, which was packed with about fifty or so pensioners. Grannies and granddads, all wearing jeans with a sharp crease down their centre, bright red, green and blue plaid shirts, with cowboy hats perched on top of their greying hair. From a large stereo system at the top of the hall, Patsy Cline’s voice was crooning about falling to pieces.

  ‘Well, howdy there, folks. Ruth’s the name, line-dancing is the game.’ A woman’s voice boomed out from the other side of the hall.

  Where the hell did she spring from? Adam thought. She was wearing one of those headpiece microphones and she bounced over towards them, tipping her hat in greeting.

  ‘We’re looking for the Pilates class,’ Pete said. ‘I think we might be in the wrong room. Is there another hall?’

  ‘No, just this one.You’re in the right place, but you’ve got the wrong day. Pilates is on Tuesdays, today’s it’s seniors line-dancing. But I can assure you, it’s much more fun with us than with all that find your inner core malarkey.’

  She started to laugh and the room joined in. Adam, Pete and David found themselves laughing along too. Laugh and the whole room laughs with you.

  ‘Sure, we’ll come back next Tuesday.’ Adam turned to the lads, whispering, ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  ‘To the pub!’ Pete declared, delighted at this twist of fate.

  But then Ruth’s voice filled the hall again, ‘Let’s give our three youngsters a warm how y’all doing welcome.’ She raised her hat and waved it in the air. ‘Yee-haw!’

  A loud cheer rang out, some even started to clap, and suddenly they were surrounded by a sea of check and plaid. Like a magician, Ruth had somehow found three hats and she quickly shoved them on to their heads, saying, ‘I always keep spares for newbies. There, now you don’t look quite so stupid.’