Finding Felix

by Finding Felix (retail) (epub)

  I lifted my eyes and looked at him, lost for words but shaking my head in an attempt to convey at least some of the regret and general sense of hopelessness I was at that moment experiencing, and to which this latest minor catastrophe had merely added.

  He turned and placed the earring wordlessly on the bedside table.

  ‘Do you need a plaster?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, examining his arm. ‘Although my T-shirt does seem to be soaking up the blood quite nicely.’

  ‘I’ll get you one.’ I got out of bed and retrieved my handbag from the armchair. ‘I’m sure there’s one in here. Yes, here you go.’ I climbed back into bed and handed him the plaster.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But can you stick it on? It’s in a bit of an awkward place.’

  ‘Sure.’ I took the plaster from him and, as he lifted his sleeve, I stuck it over the small puncture wound, which was now beginning to bruise. Then we slid back down under the covers and I reached out and switched off the lamp, feeling a tear escape and roll down my cheek as I did so.

  There was silence for a moment before he spoke.

  ‘Thanks for today,’ he said, ‘and for going to so much trouble. You’ll have to come to Cheltenham so I can return the favour – minus the parents and the bleeding.’

  I nodded, uncertain whether or not he could see me, but afraid to say anything in case words turned into blubs.

  ‘I should have said that earlier,’ he said.

  In lieu of a reply, I reached out and patted his shoulder.

  ‘Ow,’ he said.

  I laughed, punctuating the sound with a bubbly snort as a sob escaped me, and I was aware of Felix turning his head towards me. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked gently.

  I shook my head, and then, keeping my sentences short and my voice as steady as possible, said, ‘I wanted today to go well. I tried to plan. But then Alistair. And the burglar. And Mum. And my room was chaos. And you’re bleeding. It’s like a stress dream.’

  I heard him sigh, but it was a moment or two before he spoke. ‘Look, not knowing what was going to happen next was always the best bit about hanging out with you. Of course lunch and the bus tour were great, and I even enjoyed you interviewing me like you were filling out a census form. But the burglar, the griddle pan and the bedtime conversation with your mother were in a whole different league.’

  I smiled and felt relieved that he couldn’t see my tears.

  ‘And as for the way you’ve paired a flowery pyjama top with red tartan bottoms … Round of applause for vintage Dot,’ he said.

  My tears increased and I became aware that I could no longer breathe through my nose. ‘You know that I’m crying, don’t you?’ I managed eventually.

  ‘I do,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘That’s good,’ I said nasally, sitting up and switching on the lamp for a second time, ‘because I need a hanky.’ I picked up my bag from beside the bed and took out a small packet of tissues, propping myself up on a pillow while I opened it.

  Felix meanwhile repositioned his own pillows and sat up.

  I extracted a hanky and blew my nose. ‘I’ll be OK in a moment,’ I hiccoughed. ‘I just have to let my nose clear.’

  He nodded but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’m sorry for being so emotional. I just don’t feel very …’ I hesitated, searching for the right word, ‘very successful right now. Because if today is me trying hard and doing my best and it’s still all going wrong, then …’ Unable to continue, I shrugged and blew my nose again.

  Felix shook his head. ‘It’s about perspective, and from where I’m standing, I can’t agree that everything went wrong. I meant it when I said I enjoyed the day. Especially when you freestyled,’ he added.

  I turned to him, pointed at the bloodstain on his T-shirt and rolled my eyes.

  ‘It’s just a flesh wound,’ he said dismissively. ‘The scarring will be minimal, and provided sepsis doesn’t set in, everything will be fine.’

  I smiled tearfully but gratefully and leaned my head against his shoulder.

  ‘Ow,’ he said, but I didn’t move. Instead, I unfolded a second hanky and blew my nose for a third time, before resting my hands, and my two damp screwed-up tissues, on my lap and taking a deep breath.

  ‘The Alistair bit was hard,’ I said quietly.

  ‘I know.’

  I lifted my head and looked up at his profile as he stared impassively at the blackout curtains. After a moment, he turned his head towards me, offering me a rueful smile and a slight shrug. ‘I can relate.’

  ‘Yes.’ I returned my head to his shoulder.

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘Hey, I know what I meant to ask you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you know what my mother was talking about when she mentioned a wild night at The Lamb?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Didn’t you?’

  I looked up at him and shook my head. ‘Not a clue. And neither did Dad.’

  Felix smiled. ‘She mustn’t have told him.’

  ‘Told him what?’ I asked, intrigued to learn that Mum and Felix apparently shared a secret.

  ‘It was the night before I left for university,’ he said, looking at me and frowning. ‘You don’t remember any of it, do you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said, tutting. ‘We went to The Lamb with … Ian Watson and Chris Fry. Or did they just turn up?’ I closed my eyes as I tried to remember the details. ‘God, I didn’t snog one of them, did I?’ I asked, putting a hand to my mouth.

  I opened my eyes to find Felix looking at me expressionlessly.

  ‘Did I?’ I asked again.

  He shrugged. ‘If you did, it must have been very quick and I didn’t see it happen. Besides, I thought you and tattoo boy were exclusive.’

  I laughed. ‘We were. But I wasn’t going out with him by then, was I?’

  ‘It was hard to keep track.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said sternly, ‘but I had just one more relationship in school than you did, Felix Davis. Making a grand total of one.’

  ‘I was just biding my time,’ he said.

  ‘Saving yourself.’

  He smiled. ‘Something like that. Anyway, no, you didn’t snog Chris or Ian that night – so far as I am aware.’

  ‘Must have dreamt it,’ I said. ‘But I still don’t know why my mother thinks the evening was a wild one.’

  ‘You don’t remember how you got home?’ he asked.

  ‘Didn’t we walk together as usual?’

  ‘I walked. You,’ he raised his eyebrows disapprovingly, ‘were incapable of walking.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ I pulled a face.

  ‘And we didn’t have any money for a taxi.’

  ‘So …?’

  ‘So I carried you across the road to Safeway …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘… popped you in a trolley …’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘… and pushed you home.’

  ‘Half a mile in a trolley?’ I laughed.

  ‘In a trolley,’ he grinned. ‘And your mother was, quite rightly, appalled at you and very grateful to me. I even got a thank-you card.’

  I laughed again. ‘Oh Felix, why didn’t you tell me?’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘I can’t remember. I suppose it was just a very busy time. I left home the next day and you went the day after that, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did.’ I smiled up at him. ‘Funny times.’

  He nodded. ‘They were.’

  ‘I’m really surprised that Mum didn’t have a go at me about it.’

  ‘Two days before you left home?’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted to spoil things.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said, feeling guilty. ‘She loves Becca and me to bits.’

  I sat for a moment, smiling as I imagined my mother’s expression when presented with me unconscious in a shopping trolley, before suddenly recalling that for the first time in just over a year I was not actually alone in be
d and that Felix would probably quite like to go to sleep.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘My nose is clear now and I’m keeping you awake. I’ll turn off the light. Oh, and don’t worry,’ I added, reaching towards the lamp, ‘I’ll smuggle in a choccy croissant for you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Too kind,’ he said, lying down. ‘I’ll try not to get crumbs in the bed.’

  ‘Great.’

  I lay down too and closed my eyes. But although exhausted, and now in possession of a much-improved perspective, I still felt that the air between us wasn’t completely clear. After five minutes of indecision, and still nowhere nearer sleep, I rolled over and squeezed his arm. ‘Felix?’ I whispered.

  ‘Ow and yes?’

  ‘Are you asleep?’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘I never got your letters.’

  ‘My letters?’ he asked, turning his head towards me.

  ‘At Becca’s wedding you said I’d ignored your letters.’

  He didn’t reply, and I stared into the darkness, trying and failing to see his expression.

  ‘I wrote to you a couple of times after university, that’s all,’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s not a big deal. I mentioned the letters because I’d just had a crap text from my ex and you suddenly became another woman making me feel like I wasn’t trying hard enough. I lost my temper with you because you happened to be the woman in the room, not the one on the end of the phone. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. I thought I’d apologised at the reception. I certainly meant to.’

  ‘You probably did. The disco was loud and I was tipsy,’ I murmured, whilst wondering in what context this kind, forgiving and remarkably well-toned man with nice pyjamas wasn’t trying hard enough for his ex. I considered asking, or empathising and confiding in him the aspects of my own personality which fell short of Alistair’s expectations. But increasing tiredness, together with a reluctance to think about Alistair any more than I had already that evening, stopped me. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to tell you,’ I said quietly, ‘that I wouldn’t have ignored your letters.’

  ‘I know that.’

  I smiled, reflecting on the fact that thanks to those three hugely reassuring words, the day felt like it was ending on a high after all.

  ‘Good night, Dot,’ said Felix, yawning and turning onto his uninjured shoulder, his back now to me.

  ‘Night, Felix,’ I replied, and then, still smiling, I pulled the covers back up under my chin and fell asleep almost immediately.

  Chapter 20

  ‘You’re not ill as well, are you, Fred?’ I asked with concern as Kate’s husband opened their front door to me, his shoulders sagging and dark purple smudges under each eye magnified by his rimless specs. ‘You don’t look great.’

  He smiled wearily and ran a hand through his short dark hair. ‘Secondary fatigue,’ he said softly, beckoning me inside and closing the door behind me. ‘Come and have a cup of tea in the kitchen before you pop up. I’m pretty sure Kate’s asleep at the moment anyway – thank goodness.’

  ‘Is she being difficult?’ I asked, following him down the hallway.

  He smiled at me over his shoulder and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. ‘I know you don’t really even have to ask. But it’s kind of you to imply the possibility of her being otherwise.’

  I nodded. Kate wasn’t ill very often, and when she was, she usually worked through it. But on the rare occasion she was forced to stay home, she found it difficult to keep a lid on any frustrations regarding an underperforming body and mind – behaviour which obviously impacted on Fred. But as I sat down on a tall stool at the kitchen island and watched him set about making a pot of tea, I still thought he looked unwell, even taking into account the undoubted strain of having an irritable Kate on his hands.

  He was a gentle, implacable giant of a man, mild-mannered, thoughtful and chilled; the perfect foil for the high-energy, cut-to-the-chase immediacy of his wife. He would usually have tutted affectionately at her inability to accept illness and managed her anxieties with unfailing good humour. But this evening he looked genuinely burdened by it – depressed even. It was something I hadn’t seen before and it added to the mild concern I had felt when he had called me at work that afternoon to ask if I was free to pop round and see Kate on my way home.

  ‘Everything’s OK, isn’t it, Fred?’ I asked now, trying to keep my voice light. ‘Kate’s not more poorly than she told me on the phone, is she?’

  He didn’t reply or turn around, instead keeping his back to me as he reached for the kettle and poured boiling water into the teapot. It was only as he carried the pot, together with two mugs, to the table that he answered the question. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on,’ he said quietly, turning to the fridge and taking out a carton of milk, before sitting down opposite me. ‘I was hoping you might be able to fill in some of the blanks for me,’ he added, finally making eye contact.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I looked at him, aware of a rising sense of dread. ‘Has a doctor been to see her?’

  He shook his head and began to pour the tea. ‘I don’t think it’s physical. Not primarily anyway.’ He paused, replacing the teapot on the table without pouring a second mugful. ‘The truth is, Dot, I’m worried it’s something to do with me,’ he said quietly, staring at the empty mug. ‘She’s been behaving strangely for a couple of weeks now, maybe longer. Impatient over silly stuff and crying about things she’d usually brush off. But over the weekend it’s been much worse. It’s as if she can’t even bear the sight of me, let alone talk to me.’

  I reached across the table and patted his hand. ‘She’s just feeling crap. When I had flu, I couldn’t be bothered to talk to anyone and I remember getting really fed up when well-meaning people called and gave it a go.’

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She hasn’t really looked or sounded ill at all today. In fact, she looks really well. I think it’s up here,’ he added, tapping the side of his head, ‘and I’m ninety-nine per cent sure that I’m the problem – or at least a big part of it.’ He sighed unhappily, picked up the teapot and poured a second mug of tea. ‘So I was wondering if you could tell me if there’s anything I’m missing, or have missed.’

  He slid a mug towards me, along with the carton of milk, smiling whilst somehow managing to look utterly miserable. And while I genuinely had no information to share that would indicate anything other than that Kate was as besotted with him as ever, he clearly thought otherwise, and that shook me. Fred was not a man to jump to irrational conclusions and he knew Kate as well as anyone ever could. So if he now had concerns that their relationship was wobbly, or that her feelings towards him had somehow changed, I didn’t feel able to dismiss them out of hand.

  I took a deep breath, determined to weigh my words carefully. ‘Fred, I promise you that Kate has said nothing negative to me about you or your relationship, other than the usual stuff about you being far too tolerant of people,’ I added jovially. ‘In particular, that plumber who put the hot and cold taps on the wrong way round. Twice.’

  I looked at him, waiting for him to laugh or smile, but he did neither. Instead he just gazed at me and nodded thoughtfully.

  I took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘As for her behaviour changing, she might have been a little bit more clipped on the phone at work recently, I suppose,’ I began thoughtfully. ‘But we have been very busy, so actually that’s stretching a point to its elastic limit. I think, on balance, I’d have to say she’s been pretty much herself. Although she was certainly not happy when she threw up last Tuesday. And neither was I. She’s not a great shot, you know. It was everywhere!’ I laughed, but my smile froze on my face and then quickly faded as Fred once again showed zero acknowledgement of my attempt to lighten the mood.

  ‘So if she’s been fine with you and fine at work, then I guess that pretty much confirms that I’m the problem,’ he said.

  My shoulders drooped and I closed my eyes, saddened by just how unbelievably rubbish I was at t
his kind of thing. I should have stopped after the plumber reference and then encouraged him to talk. I knew now that that was what Becca would have done. But no, as usual I had said way too much and now had to attempt situation retrieval.

  ‘No, no, no,’ I said, smiling and waving a hand. ‘I don’t think it means that at all. It just means …’ I hesitated, not actually having a clue what any of it meant. ‘It just means that Kate’s more willing to … to be super-unpleasant to you. And that’s because she loves you so much. They say we’re always most unpleasant to the person we love the most, don’t they? I’m sure I’ve heard people say that,’ I added. ‘Expert people, like psychiatrists and relationship counsellors.’

  Fred offered me an expression of deeply unimpressed gloom.

  ‘Well anyway,’ I continued, hugely daunted but undeterred, ‘I can put your mind at rest about one thing: there’s absolutely no way in the world Kate’s having an affair, because I’d definitely know if she was,’ I said flatly, picking up my mug and swigging my tea in what I hoped was an unconcerned, no-nonsense manner. ‘So you can just get that idea out of your head right now, Fred Morgan.’

  ‘That idea hadn’t even crossed my mind, Dot,’ he said, sounding appalled.

  I slowly lowered my mug. ‘Oh, hadn’t it?’ I murmured uncertainly. ‘Well, er, it was very good of you not to think that. It just shows, erm, what a very positive man you are – totally without cynicism. Kate’s so lucky to have you, because a lot of men would have jumped to that conclusion immediately, wouldn’t they?’ I concluded, relatively pleased with the attempt at recovery,

  ‘Would they?’ Fred’s voice wobbled slightly. ‘I just thought that maybe she was bored of me and tired of our relationship.’

  ‘And I’m sure you’re right!’ I said brightly. ‘I’m sure that’s absolutely what’s going on and not that she’s having an affair. I don’t know why I even mentioned an affair. She’s definitely just bored … and … tired … of …’ My voice faded to a whisper and I took another sip of tea before clearing my throat and starting again. ‘I’m so sorry, Fred. I’m hopeless at this. She loves you. That’s all I know.’