Other Halves

by Nick Alexander

  In November, his friend Ryan, who had been running operations for him in his absence, announced that he would be leaving at the end of the year, and I could tell from James’ ever more frantic phone calls that it was only a matter of time before he would be required to fly home.

  Of course a trip to Australia was far from being the worst thing that I could think of, but I had been hoping that James and Luke would have the time to get over their relationship problems before attempting a family trip to the other side of the world.

  None of these were James’ fault, it has to be said: he made constant efforts to befriend Luke, offering to fix his bike, or drive him places, or teach him how to do stuff or help him with his homework. But he always seemed to go about it in the wrong way.

  Luke was twelve now, and would have respected total disdain more than James’ attempts at friendship. I tried to explain this to James; I tried to tell him that he needed to make less effort, to care less whether Luke liked him or not, but he could never stop trying for long. I think he desperately wanted Luke to become his friend, perhaps even his adoptive son. And that desperation was the last thing Luke was going to respond to.

  In late November, James came to bed at three a.m.

  “Everything OK?” I asked out of habit, still half asleep.

  “Not really,” James said, which was unusual enough to drag me from my slumber.

  “Can it wait till the morning?” I asked.

  “Sure,” James said, but within ten minutes, it was clear that his tossing and turning would not allow any sleep that night.

  I reached out and switched on the bedside light. “OK then,” I said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s nothing,” James said, characteristically, but then proceeded, for the first time, to elaborate a list of woe.

  Ryan had confirmed he was leaving the farm on Christmas Eve, and was refusing to take responsibility for finding his own replacement; the roof in the cowshed was in danger of collapse, but there was no one to organise refurbishment; a number of the herd had some respiratory disease and James feared – because it had been going on so long – that Ryan hadn’t been treating it properly. The list went on and on.

  “OK. So you need to go home,” I said once he had finished.

  “I need to go home,” he repeated.

  “And how long do you need to go home for?” I asked.

  “How long’s a piece of string?”

  “Sure, but you must have some idea?”

  James shook his head. “However long it takes to find someone to replace Ryan, to fix the roof, and whatever else I guess.”

  I sat up in bed. “Do you need to go soon?”

  James nodded. “I think so.”

  “That’s OK,” I said. “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  I nodded.

  “Thanks,” James said, smiling weakly. “I’ll have a look at flights in the morning.”

  “Christmas is coming, so we could always come out and see you for the school holidays.”

  “Sure,” James said. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  * * *

  Luke wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No way!” he exclaimed. I hadn’t even finished my sentence.

  “Why not?” I protested. “It’ll be summer out there. We can go sightseeing. You can go diving and . . .”

  “No way,” he said again.

  I ran a hand across my brow. “Luke . . .”

  “No!”

  “You’re not being reasonable.”

  “’Cos I don’t want to go.”

  “Sure. But what if I want you to go?”

  “You can’t make me.”

  I sighed. “Well, actually I kind of can,” I said. “You’re twelve, dear. In four years you’ll be sixteen and then you’ll be able to decide where you want go on holiday and you’ll be able to get a job and pay for it too.”

  Luke let out a gasp of disgust and shook his head. “There’s no way,” he said. “Really! Just go with James. Knock yourselves out.”

  “And now you’re being rude. And I won’t have it.”

  “Why do you even want me to go?” Luke asked.

  “Because I love you, and I want to go on holiday with you.”

  “I don’t like him,” Luke said.

  And I thought, So, finally, it’s out in the open. “OK, let’s talk about that. Why don’t you like him?”

  “He’s creepy.”

  “He is not creepy.”

  “OK, he isn’t creepy.”

  “Look, I really want this, Luke. I’d rather not have to tell you that you’re coming. I’d rather you just agreed. So please just do this, for me.”

  “But why?” Luke asked. “I don’t get it. If I don’t want to go, and I can’t stand James, then what’s the point? It’ll all be horrible anyway.”

  I stared at the top of his head – it was impossible to catch his eye these days – and in line with my new policy of honest communication, I considered telling him the truth: that I wanted to go to Australia to see if I might want to live there, and I wanted him to come with me for exactly the same reason. But I realised that honesty has its limits, and that there are truths that no one wants to hear.

  Luke finished his breakfast, dumped his bowl unceremoniously in the dishwasher, then ran upstairs. When he returned he had his trainers on.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked.

  “Dad’s.”

  “No. Not today you’re not. You’re with us this weekend,” I told him. “Dad’s is next weekend.”

  “OK, I’m not going to Dad’s,” Luke said pedantically. “I’m going out on my bike.”

  “Luke! Wait!” I said as he turned to leave. “I thought we could do something together today. Something nice. All three of us.”

  Luke paused in the hallway to listen, but didn’t turn back.

  “I . . . thought we could go to Thorpe Park,” I said, plucking the idea of going to the theme park from the ether.

  Luke turned back to face me now. His expression was one of utter disdain. “You can’t bribe me with Thorpe Park,” he said.

  “You know what?” I said, finally losing my cool. “Just bugger off then. Go and see your father. I’m sick to death of you!”

  Luke didn’t hang around to argue.

  A couple of days later, when Cliff dropped Luke off at the end of the drive, I ran out to meet them. I had been waiting.

  “Am I late?” Luke asked, worried by my urgency.

  “No, not at all,” I told him. “I just need to talk to your dad.”

  Luke paused, glanced back at Cliff, then glared at me.

  “It’s fine,” I said, holding my hand up in a stop sign directed at Cliff.

  Luke glanced at me suspiciously and then loped indoors as I walked to the car. The window on the passenger side slid down and Cliff leaned over and looked up at me. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Sure,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

  I peered into the car, but the interior seemed to be somehow too constrained, too intimate. “Can we walk instead?” I asked.

  Cliff looked puzzled, but complied, standing, pulling on his suit jacket and locking the car. “So what’s up?” he asked, as we started around the close.

  “Well, it’s about Luke,” I said.

  “Australia?”

  “Ah. So he told you.”

  “Of course. Quite frankly, I think you’re fighting a losing battle.”

  “But not if we both agree, surely? Not if we both tell him he has to go.”

  Cliff sighed. “You know he’s not a little kid anymore. I can’t see how you can force him to go. Unless you cuff and gag him.”

  “Can’t you just back me up on this?” I asked. “Would that be too much to ask?”

  Cliff shrugged. “It’s not like I want him to go. I enjoy having him round. He’s good company.”

  “But . . .”
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  “And he’d ruin your holidays. Just think about what he would be like on a twenty-three-hour flight or whatever it is. I honestly think you’re asking for trouble.”

  “I just really need him to do this,” I said.

  Cliff screwed up his features. “But why?” And then I saw him work something out. “You’re not coming back, are you?”

  “Of course we’re coming back,” I said.

  “But that’s what this is about, isn’t it. It’s about checking out Australia for you and Luke.”

  “No,” I lied. “It’s about a holiday in the sunshine at Christmas.”

  Cliff turned his head slightly sideways whilst still looking at me from the corner of his eye. He clearly didn’t believe me. “How long are you going for anyway?”

  “Three weeks. It’s just three weeks.”

  He sighed. “Sorry, Hannah,” he said. “But unless you can convince Luke, I don’t think that there’s much that I can do to help.”

  “You could tell him it would be a good idea. You could tell him he’ll enjoy it.”

  “But he won’t,” Cliff said. “You know he won’t.”

  “What’s he said? Has he given you a reason?”

  Cliff shrugged. “He hates James. Plus, it’s Billy’s birthday on Boxing Day. Same as every year.”

  “Of course. I forgot about Billy’s party.”

  “You should just go. Really. Enjoy yourself. Don’t spoil it all dragging a recalcitrant teenager around with you.”

  “I suppose,” I conceded, starting to think that maybe Cliff was right, that maybe this was the best option. If I liked Australia, I could always lure Luke out at a later date.

  As if he were reading my thoughts, Cliff added, “And you realise that you can’t move to Australia with Luke. Not as long as we have joint custody.”

  “I’ve no intention of moving to Australia,” I said. “None.”

  Cliff twisted his mouth, still clearly unconvinced. We had reached the end of the close, so we turned around and headed back.

  “So how was the trip with Glen?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  Cliff paused, shot me a glare, and then started walking again, but with a furrowed brow. “What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I haven’t even seen him.”

  “And Jennifer? Did you speak to her?”

  “No,” I said, thinking, But I will now.

  “It was pretty average. It was freezing. It actually snowed. I don’t think fishing’s my thing.”

  “But did you have fun?” I asked. “With Glen?”

  Again, something flickered across Cliff’s face. I saw it happen, and I saw him disguise it. “I don’t mean . . . I didn’t mean anything,” I said.

  “Anything? Anything like what?”

  “Anything like anything. I just meant did you two have a good time together?” I internally grimaced at the fact that this sounded slightly worse.

  Cliff started to walk faster now, but I trotted beside him and reached for his sleeve.

  “Cliff. I didn’t mean anything. Really,” I said. “Why are you reacting like this?”

  “I’m not reacting like anything,” Cliff said. “I just don’t like what you’re implying.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Cliff said, now pausing and turning to face me. He was slightly red-faced. “That something happened with Glen maybe?”

  “Did something happen with Glen?” I asked, shocked now.

  “NO!” Cliff said. It was almost a shout.

  “OK!” I shouted back. “Then calm down for god’s sake!”

  “I’m perfectly calm,” Cliff said, his voice revealing that he really wasn’t.

  We stood looking at each other for a moment, and then I said, “Are you gay, Cliff?” The words came out of my mouth before I even realised I was going to say them.

  Cliff looked shocked, or perhaps outraged. But I couldn’t tell if he was shocked at the question, or at the fact that I had asked it outright. “What business would that be of yours?” he said.

  “It’s just . . . we’ve never really talked about any of this.”

  “Because it’s no longer any of your business.”

  “So you are, then?”

  “Oh, sod off, Hannah,” he said.

  “I’m not trying to upset you Cliff. I’m just trying to underst—” My voice faded because a dreadful thought had just popped into my mind. I was astounded that I hadn’t thought of it before. “Cliff, did you do stuff? When we were together? With other people? With men?”

  “What?” Cliff’s voice whistled.

  “Do I need to be worried? That’s all I’m asking. Do I need to be worried about you? About myself?”

  Cliff opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. When he finally found his voice, he said, very quietly, “You’re losing it, Hannah, losing it!” and then started to stride towards the car.

  “Cliff, I’m not . . . judging you,” I said, now running after him again. “I just want to know if . . .” I had reached the car just as Cliff wrenched the door open. He glared at me over the top of the car, and ran his tongue across his front teeth before speaking.

  “Do I have AIDS?” Cliff asked. “Is that what you want to know?”

  “No. Not at all. But, if you took risks . . .”

  “You’re turning into a real bitch, you know that?”

  “That’s unfair,” I said. “I . . .” But words failed me.

  Cliff started to duck into the car, but then paused and straightened again. “For your information, Dear,” he said. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Because I never did anything with anyone, ever. Not in the whole fifteen years.”

  And then he slid into the car, slammed the door and drove away.

  I watched the car until it vanished from view, and then murmured, “That went well. Nice one, Hannah.”

  Not only had I failed to get Cliff on side for the trip to Australia, but I had made him as angry as I had ever seen him. And I had learned absolutely nothing. Because of course, I didn’t believe a word he had said anyway. Which meant that I would have to see the doctor and get myself checked out.

  SIX

  Cliff

  I never did cheat on Hannah, not once – not with a woman, and not with a man.

  I’d love to claim that such saintly behaviour was born out of steely self-control and high principles, but it wouldn’t be entirely true. As far as the fairer sex was concerned, Hannah was the only woman I had ever wanted to sleep with. And men, well, that was so complicated for me, and my experiences were so limited, that it seemed a virtual impossibility to even think about it.

  In fact my first-ever sexual experience of any kind had been with a boy. It had happened during a holiday to Skegness. I had been forced, through lack of space, to share a bunk with my distant cousin Will. We were both fourteen years old. One night, in the windswept mobile home we had rented, Will reached over and grasped my dick, and out of a sense of fair play, I had returned the favour. Around us the adults slept on.

  It never happened again, and it was never once mentioned or alluded to in any way. And even though I had liked the experience, even though I hoped every night for the remainder of the holiday that it would happen again (it didn’t) once we got back to Huddersfield, I pushed it from my thoughts. My mind’s capacity to suppress anything challenging has never ceased to amaze me.

  A few years later, Will’s marriage to Eileen was the first wedding I attended as an adult. As if proof were needed that these events of our adolescence meant precisely nothing.

  My only other experience with a man had been during the three miserable months during which I was separated from Hannah.

  It was a terrible time for both of us.

  We had lost our first child and Hannah, on leaving the hospital, had gone to her sister Jill’s place rather than returning to me. I was feeling lonely and angry, yet horribly guilty and perhaps, yes, even responsib
le for the loss of the baby. I was heartbroken but wounded by her accusation of “near rape”.

  It had happened the night after James seduced her, and everything had been a little out of control. I had momentarily ignored Hannah’s refusal to have sex and tried to force myself upon her before realising that she was deadly serious. The second I had realised I rolled away. The way I saw it, I hadn’t done anything to Hannah that night that I hadn’t done a hundred times before; after all, if I had never learned to ignore Hannah’s protests about sex, I swear we would never have had sex at all. So it seemed unfair that she should leave me because this one time had been different, because this one time, “no” had meant “no”, and I had failed to recognise that. Considering that I had caught her snogging my brother just days before our wedding was supposed to take place, it seemed utterly unfair that the blame for our separation should rest upon my shoulders alone, but that was how Hannah saw things back then.

  So I was lonely, and angry, and guilty, and filled with hatred for James, and remorse for what had happened, and grieving for the loss of our first child. The mix of emotions was so choppy, so confused, that I don’t think I even knew what I was thinking. I remember sitting staring at the computer monitor at work and realising that the entire morning had gone by without my striking a single key, my mind entirely occupied by the ebb and flow of all these novel emotions.

  One Friday after work, I found myself forced, with colleagues, to celebrate our secretary Sheena’s birthday. The drinks were on the company, and I drank more than usual, enough, in fact, that I barely noticed as my work colleagues started to drift away to their families, to their partners, to their individual Friday nights.

  By the time I did realise that I was alone in the bar, it was eight p.m. and I was too drunk to drive and yet still not drunk enough to face returning to an empty house. Because the sheer volume of beer inside me was becoming untenable, I switched, I recall, to whisky.

  At closing time I staggered from the bar and started to stumble across the park in the vague direction of home. I needed to piss, so I headed for a clump of bushes, and though there were thousands of square feet to choose from, I was surprised to find myself sharing my bush with another man.