Magic Sometimes Happens

by Margaret James

  ‘My book is doing fine.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘Riley, will you quit interrogating me!’ He rounded on me, glaring. ‘You drive a person crazy, you know that? Why are you so freaking cheerful these days? Did you get to see some action while you were in Europe?’

  ROSIE

  So Tess was sleeping on my sofa bed.

  She wouldn’t talk to Ben. She wouldn’t go and see her family. She did go shopping sometimes, but all she bought was chain store rubbish from the rubbish end of Oxford Street.

  ‘She’s such a fool,’ she said one evening while we watched tripe on cable and I picked up some pointers on how not to do PR, how not to market anything.

  ‘Who’s such a fool?’ I asked. I must never say that something is faux anything, I told myself – be it leather, fur or diamonds – ever, ever, ever. It was tacky and it was deceitful. A product should be praised for what it was, and never weasel-worded for something it was not. Well – not extravagantly weasel-worded, anyway. A little verbal massage never hurt …

  ‘Pat Riley’s wife,’ said Tess, sloshing more wine into her glass. ‘What the hell’s the matter with the woman? She has a lovely husband. He’s clever, kind and funny, and he’s good-looking, too. It’s no wonder Ben’s so flipping jealous and felt he had to screw his best friend’s wife. You should see Pat with his children, Rosie, talk about a perfect father – and the kids, they obviously adore him.’

  A perfect father – right. ‘What are his children like?’ I asked. Just to torment myself, of course. I didn’t seem able to resist it.

  ‘Joe must be five or six, and he’s a little charmer. He looks just like Patrick – straight, dark hair and big brown eyes. He chats away and tells you all about his school and hamster and what he wants to be when he grows up.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘He can’t decide between an astronaut and Spiderman.’

  ‘What about Pat’s daughter? It’s Molly, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, Polly. Well, she’s super-cute. She has the same colouring as Joe, but he’s quite small and skinny and she’s a little dumpling. She sits on Patrick’s lap and chews his shirt cuff and snuggles up against his chest and you can see he loves that child to bits.’

  ‘Pat made you feel broody, didn’t he?’

  ‘No!’ retorted Tess. ‘Well, maybe – just a little smidgeon.’

  ‘Why don’t you give Ben another chance?’

  ‘Why would I do that? So I can be a literary widow, pregnant at the kitchen sink, waiting for the master to come home from screwing pretty female novel-writing wannabes? Raising all those children he says he doesn’t want? I’m filing for divorce. I’m going to sue that bastard for every cent he’s got.’

  ‘You’ve made your mind up, have you?’

  ‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Why aren’t you on my side?’

  ‘Tess, I’m definitely on your side. But can you afford to hire a really hotshot lawyer?’

  ‘It depends how much they cost.’

  ‘Ben will hire a brilliant attorney – do I mean attorney, is that what they’re called – who will make you look like some pathetic foreign gold-digger who had schemed to do this from the start. I mean to run away.’

  ‘Rosie, he was shagging Patrick’s wife! It was disgusting. I can’t imagine anybody normal enjoying stuff like that.’

  ‘But you have no evidence. That’s unless you snapped them with your phone?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t, dummy. It never crossed my mind.’

  ‘So now you’ve deserted him. Or that’s what he’s going to tell a judge. He might refuse to pay you anything. He might say you’ve already cleaned him out.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ growled Tess. ‘I’d like to clean him out with Dyno-Rod. I’d like to shove a pipe right up his arse and—’

  ‘Yes, okay. Did you remember to bring your jewellery?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did. I got my diamonds from the bank, as well. I called there on the way to catch my plane. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Fanny says the woman always keeps her jewellery and all her other personal – what did she call them – chattels.’

  ‘Good, I’ll flog it all on eBay. Jewellery and clothes and shoes and handbags, everything – that’ll keep me going for a while.’ Then Tess sat up straight, looked hard at me. ‘You’ve discussed all this with Fanny, have you?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t. But she mentioned it some months ago while we were chatting about something else.’

  ‘When you told her I’d got married, eh?’ Tess slumped back on the sofa. ‘I always knew the woman was a witch. I wish she’d cast a spell on Ben and make his nuts fall off. But in the meantime, I’m going to get my own back.’

  ‘How will you do that?’

  ‘I’ll tell Patrick what I saw them doing.’

  ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘I think he needs to know the truth about his shit best buddy and his wife.’ Tess got out her Galaxy. I let her carry on.

  ‘By the way,’ she said as she was tapping, ‘I rang Mum. I’m going home tomorrow. She needs some help with Dad. He’s in a bad way, apparently.’

  ‘She’s forgiven you for getting married without inviting any of your family?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. But she also said it’s got to be a white meringue, ten bridesmaids in pink taffeta and half a dozen pageboys next time, or she’ll hang and draw and quarter me.’

  April

  PATRICK

  The text from Tess, it freaked me out.

  I read it twenty, thirty times and even then I couldn’t quite believe it. The fortieth time, I did. Okay, I thought, that’s after I was finished killing Ben in half a dozen cruel and unusual ways, now you must play it cool.

  What were my options? Do absolutely nothing, file for divorce this very minute, try to find some middle way? Whatever I did next, I was not about to start a fight for custody of Joe and Polly. I doubted I would get it, anyway. Whatever Lexie’s failings as a wife, she couldn’t be faulted as a mother.

  Also, if I started court proceedings, any good attorney Lex instructed would very soon find out that I was seeing Rosie and would drag my name and Rosie’s through a ton of mud – or worse than mud.

  I consulted with the dean and London University and fixed it so on April 22nd I was due back in London to give a dozen lectures and also do experimental work on thought-to-text at Queen Alexandra College.

  I’d be there until July, maybe going back to the US from time to time, but being a mostly cyber-presence back at JQA. I’d get an apartment, I decided, so I could have the kids stay over when they were in Europe.

  It would be good to get away from Minnesota where we still had ice and snow and blizzards. Everyone had gotten tired of winter and was longing for the spring, but this must have been one of the coldest springs on record, a mere continuation of a miserable winter.

  I emailed Rosie to tell her I was coming to London for the summer. Rosie emailed back to say it would be nice to see me. Oh – nice to see me – right.

  But when she came to meet me at Heathrow and when I saw her coming toward me, all the doubts I’d had about her loving me, they vanished, and I knew I was home. She looked amazing, black hair wild and curling round her lovely heart-shaped face, gorgeous grey eyes wide, red lips parted in anticipation, long legs doing great PR for her designer jeans. I dropped my stuff and took her in my arms and held her tight, tight, tight for five, ten, fifteen minutes, maybe more.

  ‘I didn’t dare allow myself to hope you would come back,’ she whispered when at last we broke apart a little.

  ‘I couldn’t stay away.’

  ‘Your work, your family, your life – they’re all in America.’

  ‘But you’re in the UK, and where you are is where I want to be.’

  ‘Oh, Pat – you say the nicest things!’

  ‘The beer is better, too. The last time I was over here, I kind of got a taste for your real ale.’

  ‘You m
ust be the most romantic man I’ve ever known, Professor Riley.’ She socked me on the jaw. Or I should say she would have socked me if I hadn’t caught her hand in time.

  ‘Did you drive?’ I asked.

  ‘No, my poor Fiesta’s just failed its MOT and so it needs some work. I came by train.’

  ‘Let’s go get a taxi back to London.’

  ‘Okay. Where are your children at the moment?’ she enquired, as I gathered up my stuff and as we started heading for the exit.

  ‘They’re in the UK as well. Lexie and the Limey are in London, so the kids are on an outside-of-curriculum vacation.’

  ‘When Tess told you about Ben and Lexie, did you—’

  ‘Give a shit?’ I shook my head. ‘It was a shock, of course. But I did some thinking as I was coming over here and I realised I was not surprised. Well – not surprised at Ben, at any rate.’

  ‘At Lexie, maybe?’

  ‘Yeah, perhaps. But if she could cheat on me with Mr Wonderful, why not with my best friend? Come on, Rosie, let’s go find that cab. We need to make up for lost time.’

  So why did I not care?

  I should have cared. One time, I’d have beaten up on Ben, like I had when we were little kids back in Recovery and he had gotten me into big trouble with Miss Ellie over missing doughnuts. He’d stolen them and sold them at recess and told our teacher it was down to me. Of course I took my punishment and, after school was out, I flattened him. But afterward I found I was ashamed. I made a solemn vow. I’d never strike another human being, not even my best friend. After all, there was a bunch of other ways to make my feelings known.

  Did Mr Wonderful know what had happened between Ben and Alexis? If so, did it trouble him at all? Or was he too busy showing Europe how to manage its affairs?

  I took Rosie’s hand. I told myself whatever happened next, I would never let this woman go.

  ROSIE

  ‘You’re a dark one, aren’t you, mate?’ said Tess, when we met for coffee in a Starbucks two days later. ‘So how long has this been going on?’

  ‘Since he was here in February.’

  ‘So when I was staying at your flat and you said you hadn’t got a bloke, that wasn’t strictly accurate?’

  ‘Tess, I didn’t know if he’d be coming back. After all, his life is in America, and anyway he’s married.’

  ‘Yes, and as we both know very well, that never stops them, does it?’

  ‘This isn’t just a casual – Tess, I’m not even going to say the word. It’s serious. I love him, he loves me.’

  ‘Of course you love him. He’s absolutely gorgeous and I must admit I rather fancy him myself. But, my clever intellectual friend – with your degree from Cambridge and your quarter blue in tiddlywinks – as you have observed, the man is married, and he has children, too.’

  ‘So perhaps this means he’s really serious about me, is prepared to make a lot of sacrifices so that he can be with me?’

  ‘So perhaps this is his way of paying back his wife? She cheated on him, yes. But what’s he doing, if not cheating back?’

  ‘It’s not like that at all.’

  ‘Of course it’s not. This is a love to last a lifetime. You’re Romeo and Juliet. You’re Antony and flaming Cleopatra. You’re Cathy Whatsername in Wuthering Heights and Mr Rochester.’

  ‘Mr Rochester is in Jane Eyre.’

  ‘Yes, okay, whatever. Just you be careful, girl. You have your fun and ring me when it all goes pear-shaped, right?’

  ‘What’s the matter, Rosie?’

  Pat was lying on my sofa. I was lying on Pat. I refused to let myself think any more about what Tess had said.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied.

  ‘You’re not usually so quiet.’

  ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘You got a headache?’

  ‘No.’ I kissed him. ‘But I think I want to go to bed.’

  PATRICK

  Lexie called to say that she and Mr Wonderful were going on a trip to Düsseldorf. He had meetings with some guys from German banks. He’d be sorting out the world’s financial crisis, right? I guess it had to be?

  They would be gone three days, said Lex and, when I asked for details of their travel schedule, she announced that they were booked on British Airways and were going first class. Then she added she would sure appreciate it if I’d watch the kids while they were gone.

  ‘Why can’t you take them with you?’

  ‘Pat, why don’t you want to see your children?’

  ‘I do want to see them. But it’s kind of awkward when I’m working.’

  ‘I really don’t see why.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll take them to some meetings. Maybe Poll could join in the discussion? Joe could swing by at my lectures, too?’

  Lexie told me not to be sarcastic because it was the lowest form of wit. Why did I not have a few days off, take this opportunity to show my children some of quaint, historic Britain: castles, turrets, battlements and genuine haunted houses? Stephen said …

  I couldn’t give a shit what Stephen said. But I postponed a lecture. I told the graduate students I’d arranged to meet that I’d be out of town and I rescheduled all my stuff with them.

  I hired a Volkswagen sedan, made reservations for the kids and me at a hotel in Guildford. This was close to where the Limey had a house where he and Lexie and the kids hung out, that’s when they weren’t at his apartment someplace in the City.

  Guildford was allegedly a quaint, historic town convenient for lots of other quaint, historic stuff. I saw it had a Starbucks anyway. I thought this might be useful because the woman on the desk at the hotel had looked at me like I must be an alien form of life who might bite or sting her on her stuck-up British nose.

  So I didn’t think this place would be exactly welcoming to kids. But where would kids be welcome? I’d realised the British mostly have no time for kids. Of course, no British people were ever kids themselves.

  Lexie and the children met me at a filling station nearly two hours late. No apologies were made for jerking me around, wasting my time. Lexie had a printed list of dos and don’ts. ‘You’ll need this, Pat,’ she said.

  I saw green salads, outdoor exercise and early bedtimes, these were all still mandatory. As for fries and shakes and acting like a pair of monkeys in a zoo, yelling, fighting and mad-housing, they were still forbidden. So was drinking water from a faucet – bottled water only was allowed – so that was new.

  ‘It’s in case of allergies,’ she told me.

  ‘How can a person have an allergy to water?’

  ‘You don’t know what’s in the water here in Europe, Patrick. Stephen says—’

  ‘Lex, I’m sure you have a busy schedule, so don’t let me hold you up.’

  As Lexie drove, or rather kangaroo-hopped – she clearly wasn’t on good terms with British stick shifts yet – out of the parking lot, I dropped her idiot list into the nearest garbage bin.

  ‘What now, Dad?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Let’s go have ourselves a bunch of fun.’

  ‘Dad, can we be alligators?’

  ‘Awigators?’ echoed Polly.

  ‘Yeah, sounds good to me,’ I told them. ‘Okay, guys, let’s go.’

  A year back, Lexie had banned alligators. They were not allowed in the apartment. They made too much noise. They flooded out the bathroom and terrified our nearest neighbours who were nervous seniors with a ton of heart conditions.

  I doubted alligators were allowed in Mr Wonderful’s and Lexie’s place – too messy, too much fun?

  I thought it likely the kids were starved of fun. So when we came back to the hotel, I let Joe and Polly fill the bathtub and burrow underneath a zillion bubbles, shrieking like a pair of banshees, soaking all the towels and robes and flicking blobs of foam up all the walls.

  Meantime, while my children learned through play, I called up Rosie, told her Lexie was back Friday. ‘So could I see you Friday evening? Unless …’

  ‘Unless?’ she prompted
me.

  ‘You’d like to take a day off work and spend some time with me and Joe and Polly?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know what?’

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t – no, forget it. Actually, I’d like to meet your children. I’d like it very much. Why don’t we meet in – Pat, where are you, anyway?’

  ‘Guildford.’

  ‘Why are you in Guildford?’

  ‘It’s historical and Lexie says the kids could use some history.’

  ‘The last time I was there, I noticed a historical McDonald’s, ancient Topshop and a venerable Gap. They must all have been there since – well, 1995? Okay, I’ll come and find you and then we’ll take the children somewhere seriously historical. I know just the place.’

  ‘Where do you have in mind?’

  ‘You wait and see,’ she said mysteriously. ‘But I can tell you now – you and the children, you’re going to be impressed.’

  ‘Come on, Rosie, give me just one little clue?’

  ‘It’s not too far from Guildford. It’s unique. You have nothing like it in America. If you go into Google Maps, you’ll find it. There – four clues – see you tomorrow, right?’

  So I invited her to meet my kids.

  Why didn’t I do this before?

  I don’t really know, except that she had never mentioned kids, had never said she liked them, didn’t like them, wanted any of her own, was seriously into cats. I wasn’t sure if she and Joe and Poll would get along.

  I guessed I’d soon find out.

  She said four clues. I clicked on Google Maps. But then Joe started drowning Polly, so I went into the bathroom, pulled the plug.

  When Joe and Polly were dried off and dressed again, we rode the elevator to the restaurant. There, they stuffed their faces – where did I hear that expression, maybe it was one of Rosie’s – with a bunch of things their mother didn’t let them touch: delicious British fries and chicken strips in neon-orange breadcrumbs – no artificial colours, flavours in the meals for kids, or so it stated on the menu card, but I didn’t buy that for a second – and chocolate shakes with sprinkles and marshmallows on the top.

  They traded sprinkles – Joe refused to eat the pink ones, Polly wanted all the pink ones – argued over who had got most red ones, agreed that greens were poisonous.