The Gulf Between Us

by Geraldine Bedell

  No one said much in the car. Once we got home, Sam went off to have a shower and I made some pasta while Matt rinsed the salad. When Sam slid back into the kitchen he was wearing an old dressing gown that was too short in the sleeves, his hair sticking damply to his forehead. It didn’t seem very long ago that he used to appear like this every evening, in pyjamas and dressing gown, straight from the bath, bouncing on the sofa, wanting a bedtime story and his Thomas the Tank Engine video.

  ‘Where did they hold you?’

  ‘In a cell. In a block behind the Ministry.’

  He said the conditions hadn’t been too bad. The cell had been air‐conditioned and he hadn’t had to share it with any violent rapists or murderers, or anyone, in fact. The main problem had been boredom, because after the first half an hour they’d left him alone. Despite what the assistant superintendent had implied to me, there had been no big interrogation. ‘They asked a few questions when I first arrived, but what was there to say? I pointed out – which they already knew – that the Al Majid haven’t closed the US base and that they’ll give the Americans all the assistance they want for the invasion, so it’s ridiculous to pretend in public that they’re against the war. I mean, either you’re against it and don’t let the planes land, or you’re in favour of it and you do. I don’t really think anyone can argue with that. So then they left me alone.’ They’d given him food, although he claimed it had been inedible – ‘a sort of dhal, I think,’ he said – which probably meant it really had been unpleasant, because Sam will eat anything.

  ‘Look, you may be right about the Al Majid,’ I said, sitting down opposite him.

  ‘I am right.’

  ‘OK, you’re right about the Al Majid, but, even so, what did you think you were doing putting that cartoon in at the last minute, when it’s been clear for weeks that we were on borrowed time here?’

  ‘I didn’t think I should necessarily put our family before the people of Iraq,’ he said pompously.

  ‘Yeah, and what did you think a cartoon in a school newspaper could achieve, exactly?’

  ‘Well, like I said, I could point out the truth.’ When I raised my eyes to the ceiling, he added, ‘A lot of people think those street protests last year in Arab countries made the Americans think twice about the invasion.’

  ‘Sam, the Americans and the British are going to war with Iraq whatever you and I do.’

  ‘I still think we should stand up for what we believe in.’

  He had far too much adolescent self‐righteousness and he was very annoying, but in a way, it was quite difficult not to feel a little bit proud of him.

  The timer pinged for the pasta and I got up to turn it off. ‘It’s very lucky that we know Al Maraj, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘Mmn.’ I think there was a part of him that was sorry he wasn’t being deported for his radical politics.

  ‘D’you know what he did? Who did he see? How did he get you out?’

  ‘I dunno. I didn’t even know he was there till they released me.’

  It must have been someone very important. Sam would have been arrested on the orders of the minister of information, who would almost certainly have been acting for the prime minister. So what had Nezar had to promise that was tougher than leaving? If they were planning to humiliate us, would we be able to comply? Would we want to? Perhaps Nezar had concluded we had so little dignity left, we were beyond humiliation. Well, I would just have to insist that wasn’t true.

  I washed my hair the following morning, which I don’t always on a Friday, and put on a bit of mascara. Not too much, though. I didn’t want to look as though I’d gone to some enormous effort, as if I couldn’t think about anything else but Nezar coming round or anything.

  Then I tried to have a normal day. I went out and bought croissants from the French bakery for the boys. I made the mistake of leaving these out on the kitchen table, so that when Cheryl dropped by without invitation half way through the morning she assumed they were leftovers, and immediately sat down and starting nibbling one as she leafed through the Hawar Daily News. In fact, the boys were still in bed, but I was loading the dishwasher when she arrived and didn’t notice what she was doing and it would have seemed rude to ask her to stop eating their breakfast once she was already half way through it.

  ‘Tel says they won’t find any weapons of mass destruction now,’ she announced, looking up from an article about American troop reinforcements that she’d spotted while picking at croissant crumbs on the newspaper, ‘so the war must be about oil.’

  ‘I suppose…’ I agreed vaguely, although it was hard to see how Iraq could withdraw its oil, given that it didn’t have anything else.

  Then the doorbell rang and I went to answer it. Al Maraj was outside, and I couldn’t help smiling. I only had to think of him and I smiled – so actually seeing him, actually having him bend down and kiss me, I felt as though I might smile for ever.

  I’d have to get rid of Cheryl, though. Given that I had to prove to him that we did have some dignity left and couldn’t be made to do humiliating things just because the prime minister wanted, it was quite important he shouldn’t meet Cheryl. I was just debating how I could get her out of the house before I got Nezar in and she was able to say something crass and embarrassing, when a Jeep came trundling over the speed bumps and pulled up outside our house. I recognized it as Andrew’s; he jumped down from the driver’s seat, followed in quick succession from the other side by Will and Maddi. They all waved at me self‐consciously, and came up the path.

  ‘This is a surprise!’ I said, in a tone that may have sounded less than thrilled.

  ‘Ha! Yes!’ they all said.

  I hugged Maddi, catching a whiff of her grassy perfume, which made me feel sad. ‘How come you’re in Hawar?’

  ‘I handed in my notice. And I was still on probation, so they let me go.’

  Nezar shook hands with everyone and said genially: ‘I guess we haven’t seen each other since the wedding?’

  Maddi flushed. Will and Andrew looked at the ground.

  ‘Anyway, come in,’ I said brightly.

  Then we were all in the sitting room. I looked around and said loudly: ‘Well, this is nice!’

  Nice? What was I talking about? It was hideous. And then, just as I was about to offer everyone a drink, which was part of my plan to go into the kitchen and get rid of Cheryl, she came out into the sitting room to join us.

  ‘God, Maddi!’ she exclaimed in her broad New Zealand accent, ‘we didn’t expect you back again so soon. Nothing wrong? It’s not Millie?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’

  I introduced Cheryl to Nezar. ‘But she’s about to go to her step class,’ I said.

  In fact, though, she seemed in no hurry to get away. ‘Goodness me, Annie,’ she exclaimed, ‘where’ve you been hiding this one?’ She turned the full force of her smile on Nezar. ‘How come we’ve never met before?’

  ‘I’m not often here.’

  ‘Where d’you get all these good‐looking men, Annie? She knows James Hartley, you know,’ she told Nezar.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Nezar’s the producer of James’s film,’ I said wearily.

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, if I’d known he was a friend of yours, I’d have been in here more often.’

  ‘Surely, that would hardly be possible?’ murmured Will.

  Nezar’s presence seemed to have gone to Cheryl’s head. ‘So, Maddi, what brings you here, then?’ she asked roguishly. ‘Can’t keep away from your gorgeous new hubby?’ Maddi smiled weakly. ‘I thought you lot got all that out of your systems before you married these days!’

  ‘Right,’ said Will. ‘OK. Enough.’

  Cheryl frowned at him. I looked from Will to Maddi to Andrew, and then back again. Nezar looked at me. Will and Andrew looked, shiftily, at the floor.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Maddi said eventually. ‘Look, if you’re not going to say, I am.’ She turned to me. ‘Annie, they wanted you to be
the first to know. They’re going to live together.’

  It was suddenly all too much. ‘Oh, Maddi…’

  ‘No, really, it’s the right thing. And it’s about time.’

  Cheryl made a screechy sound. She looked round the room, working out which two Maddi meant and struggling to believe that it could be them. ‘Hang on a minute, am I getting this right? Those two are going to live together?’

  ‘Apparently,’ I said.

  ‘Has this been going on long?’ Nezar asked, confused.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ I could see he was baffled. I wondered if this was the final straw, if he was deciding finally that he couldn’t have any more to do with us. The ruling family, the Church of England: it appeared there was no institution too mighty for us to take on. We were embarrassing on a national scale.

  ‘What, are they gay as well?’ Cheryl demanded.

  ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘But we only just went to the wedding!’

  ‘I know,’ Maddi said, ‘I’m very sorry about that.’

  Cheryl turned to Andrew. ‘Aren’t you here under false pretences?’

  ‘I hope not. Though I’ve talked to the bishop’ – this was to me – ‘and he thinks I should leave.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. You were right, what you said. And there are other things I can do.’

  ‘What, you’re leaving Hawar?’ Cheryl demanded. ‘Or the Church?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘You’re leaving because of him?’

  ‘There’s no need to say it like that,’ Will said.

  ‘Actually, because of me,’ Maddi said. ‘They’d never have got their act together if I hadn’t shouted at them. It turns out that even men who don’t need women need women.’

  Cheryl looked from one to the other. ‘So you and Will are splitting up?’ she said to Maddi, shaking her head in disbelief. Then she looked at her watch. ‘God, is that the time? I’m supposed to be at step class in ten minutes. I got completely distracted…’ And she tripped off.

  ‘There you are,’ Maddi said, ‘you won’t have to tell anyone. It’ll be all over the emirate in half an hour.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, looking around, ‘coffee, anyone?’

  Nezar followed me into the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ I said sheepishly.

  ‘No, don’t. It wouldn’t be you without some major drama.’

  ‘Don’t imagine it’s like this all the time. Mostly it’s very dull.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Anyway, we managed to sort this one out entirely without your help.’ He kissed me, which was very nice, but I drew back and said: ‘Look, you’d better tell me now. It’s worrying me. What’ve we got to do?’

  ‘Later,’ he said, ‘here’s Maddi.’

  ‘Can I come in?’ She reached into the cupboard for some cups. ‘It’s OK, you know,’ she told me, when Nezar had gone back into the sitting room to talk to Will and Andrew. ‘You’re allowed to be pleased. It’s the right thing.’

  ‘Maybe, but…’

  ‘You know it is. And this is why I’ve been depressed. Because of Millie, too, of course, but the real problem was that I obviously couldn’t make Will happy. For a long while neither of us could bear it. We couldn’t talk about it because we couldn’t even think about it. In a way, it was a relief when I realized about Andrew.’

  ‘Did you really shout at them?’

  ‘As soon as I got off the plane, I took a taxi to Andrew’s, because I was so furious with him, but it turned out Will was already there. It’s OK,’ she grinned at my expression, ‘they were only talking. And they seemed to have reached the right conclusion. Or nearly. The shouting may have helped a bit.’

  ‘Maddi, I’m so sorry…’

  ‘Stop apologizing.’ She looked out into the sitting room. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why those two look like they’re about to have root canal work. They’ve got a boyfriend.’ She picked up the tray of coffee. ‘Let’s go and rescue them.’

  No one wanted to linger over the coffee. Maddi was dreading talking to her parents, but she knew she’d have to do it straight away now, before they heard via Cheryl. Will was anxious about what the Franklins might say or do: they’d always been so fond of him, so approving of what he’d made of himself, and he’d hardly have been human if he hadn’t enjoyed that. Now their approval was about to be changed into fury. Andrew was the one with the car, so it was agreed he’d drive them all back into Qalhat and that he and Will would wait at the chaplaincy while Maddi went to her parents. ‘And then if you need us, you can call,’ Andrew told her. No one bothered to point out to him that he was the last person the Franklins would want to see.

  So they left, all looking slightly bilious, and Nezar and I were alone, or nearly. ‘I should warn you that Matt and Sam are here,’ I said as he started kissing me again.

  ‘What, still in bed?’ He wasn’t used to teenagers.

  ‘I know, I’d have got them up by now if all this…’

  ‘It’s quite a good idea, though,’ he said.

  In my room, with its windows over the garden, I felt as if everything was opening up, as if a whole new way of looking at things was beginning. Afterwards, I cried. I’m not sure why. Relief, probably.

  He turned to me. ‘Look, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.’

  ‘What?’ He had a wife. Something like that. She was locked in an attic.

  I looked at him fearfully. ‘Is this the commitment, the thing we’ve got to do?’ In the heat of the moment, the exhilaration of leaving everything behind and losing myself somewhere perfect and new, I’d forgotten all about it.

  ‘It turned out that the only way of getting Sam out was to tell them that you and I were getting married.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said slowly, ‘that was a bit presumptuous of you.’

  ‘It was all I could think of. But you can break it off. I’ll be the one who looks stupid. You’ll be fine now.’

  ‘How am I supposed to break it off when you haven’t even asked me?’

  So he did, and I said that if all those police officers were expecting it, it didn’t seem right to disappoint them.

  While Nezar was having a shower, I made some lunch.

  ‘Who’s in your bathroom?’ Sam demanded. He was finishing the croissants, which he insisted weren’t going to spoil his lunch, which was ridiculous but I couldn’t be bothered to argue. When I told him, he said: ‘Is it going to last? Because I quite like him. Better than that last one. At least he comes round to our house.’

  I didn’t tell him yet quite how lasting it was going to be. I told him about Will and Andrew instead.

  ‘And how d’you feel about that?’ he asked, sticking his finger in some hummus I’d put on the table and sucking it. ‘I thought Andrew really annoyed you.’

  I explained that if Andrew was prepared to give up everything for Will, I felt I should do my best to overlook the things I’d previously found difficult about him. I knew what an effort it must have cost him to have abandoned not only his career but his whole carefully constructed sense of himself, so it seemed only right for me to try a bit too. Besides, none of the things that had made me despair of him applied any more: he’d given up his tired ideas of respectability, he loved Will, and he was prepared to tell everyone so.

  A couple of hours later, Will, Andrew and Maddi came back from town, visibly relieved and a bit hysterical. Maddi’s interview with her parents had not gone well, though Millie had stuck up for her: Peter and Katherine had been disbelieving at first, then confused and furious. The greater part of the time had been taken up with furious. There had been a lot of crying.

  ‘I got out alive, that’s about the best that can be said for it,’ Maddi said. ‘It would probably be a good idea for Will and Andrew to stay out of my dad’s way for a while.’

  I shook my head sadly, thinking of the months Katherine had spent on the wedding.

&
nbsp; ‘Anyway,’ Maddi said, carrying a bowl of tahini and a plate piled with pitta bread on to the veranda, ‘I pointed out that they only have one gay son‐in‐law, whereas you have two gay sons.’

  ‘Did that help?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. They still don’t want to see any of you ever again.’

  Katherine had apparently claimed that Will had only married Maddi as a cover for his relationship with Andrew. She’d also said – although this wasn’t quite logical – that he’d done it deliberately to humiliate their family.

  ‘She’ll come round,’ Maddi promised, as we sat down on the veranda to bread, salad, tahini and what was left of the hummus.

  I thought privately that the coming round could take some time. I looked around at my children, at Maddi, and Nezar, and couldn’t help remembering that other Friday when we’d sat here, organizing the wedding and getting excited about James Hartley. It seemed years ago rather than a few months. Now there would be another wedding to organize, though there would be rather less fuss and slavish sticking to convention with this one. I hadn’t said anything about it to the boys yet; as I told Nezar, I thought it made sense to save up the news for a quieter day, one when we hadn’t already had a couple of major dramas. This was Will and Andrew’s moment – and, oddly, Maddi’s too – and I was happy enough to leave the limelight to them. I was, though, extremely glad that this was now and that was then.

  Not that I didn’t have worries. Two of my sons would have to negotiate life as gay men, for a start. Will and Andrew were already making plans to live together in London, where it was obvious they’d be as conventional a couple as it’s possible to be, just in a gay way. Andrew had been in touch with a friend of his who was starting a drugs project in the East End; Will intended to carry on working at his Arab investment company, visiting Saudi and working for his Gulf‐based clients as long as he could. He said he didn’t see why his sexuality should make a difference, which was admirable, and ethically correct in my view, but possibly a bit optimistic.

  Matt would go to university in the autumn as he’d always planned – and though he would have been appalled by the idea right now, eventually, no doubt, he’d start seeing someone new. He claimed, though, that he’d had enough of relationships for the time being, and I thought it could well be a while before he was able to feel about anyone the way he’d felt about Rashid. I worried he might struggle to look at the world with quite the same freshness as he used to; that there might be more suspicion and reticence, a sore and scarred part of himself held in reserve. While that may have been a necessary loss, it was still a loss.