The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  “Right, I forgot Posey’s sleeping arrangements,” Dad said. “You’d think I’d remember something like that. Is there an airing cupboard in this place?”

  “Yep. But there’s no rush to go to sleep.”

  “I thought you were tired?”

  “I’m not now. So Posey will stay here while you read us a story. Which one, Posey?”

  “Bryan the Lion.”

  “We’d like you to read Bryan the Lion,” Scarlett said. “It’s just there, Dad, next to you.”

  Posey lay down next to Scarlett on the bed. “I hope your dad does the voices better than Patrick.”

  “Don’t worry.” Scarlett put her hands under her head. “He does. And he’s specially good at the gorilla.”

  14

  Patrick kept busy to stop himself thinking about Nicola. He organized drinks, prepared sandwiches, arranged bowls of olives and nuts. He was pleased to note that, by eight-thirty that night, he and Claire were clearly marked out in the capacity of hosts.

  Matt had put Scarlett to bed, and now Alex and Matt were on the sofas while Claire was mixing drinks in the kitchen area. Patrick was at the dimmer switch, working on the lighting ambience in the open-plan lounge/kitchen/dining room. A man in control of technology.

  It was important to set the right baseline, Patrick thought. Start as you mean to go on.

  “Sorry it was just sandwiches,” he said. “We’ll do some proper cooking tomorrow.”

  “By we, he means me.” Claire brought a drink in each hand through to the lounge. “I’m doing skate.”

  “Alex hates fish,” Matt said simply.

  Alex’s face flushed. “Matt!”

  Matt turned to her. “What? Would you rather I hadn’t told her? Were you going to just eat it anyway?”

  “Stop it.” Alex turned to Claire. “I’m so sorry, Claire.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Claire placed a drink on a coaster in front of Alex. “I made you a watermelon cocktail. Nonalcoholic. I got the recipe from the Sunday supplement.”

  Alex shot a look at Matt. “No secrets here?”

  Matt raised his palms. “I thought you wouldn’t want any awkwardness. Get the explanations out of the way before we came. Is that OK?”

  Claire handed another drink to Matt. Patrick noticed he didn’t thank her, and Claire didn’t expect to be thanked.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And I’m sorry for drawing attention to it.” Claire grabbed Alex’s hands for emphasis. “I was trying to be nice.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  Claire smiled and let go of Alex’s hands. She went back to the kitchen for the other drinks.

  Alex gave an awkward throat-clearing sound. “I feel the need to add, for completeness, that while I chose to give up booze, I was never a textbook alcoholic, not the bad kind. I was just the kind of drinker that the newspapers warn you about.” Her face reddened by the second. “The kind that drinks too much supermarket Rioja and is a ticking time bomb for the NHS.”

  Claire nodded. “Of course.”

  “I never woke up face-first in bushes or fought homeless people on petrol station forecourts.”

  Matt turned to Claire. “The good thing is, she barely ever fights homeless people anymore.” He patted Alex on the knee. “She’s done really well.”

  Alex pushed his hand away good-naturedly. Patrick thought Matt’s comment disrespectful, but Alex didn’t seem to mind.

  Claire handed a cocktail to Patrick without looking at him. Patrick was going to thank her, but decided it would be odd if he thanked her when Matt hadn’t.

  Alex scratched her mouth. “Anyway, I just don’t drink now, and it’s no big deal. Loads of people don’t drink.”

  Patrick wondered if Alex always talked so much, and so quickly.

  “I’m not saying never again. I may take it up again in a year, maybe—weddings, birthdays. Just not all the time.”

  Claire picked up her cocktail. “Cheers.”

  They all did the clinking thing. Claire sat back on the boxy sofa and stretched out. She looked like she was trying to make the sofa look as comfortable and relaxing as possible. “This is such a nice thing to do. Games and outdoor fun and karaoke. Getting to know one another.”

  Everyone gave a kind of acknowledging nod. Alex’s nod was slightly delayed, but emphatic when it came.

  “Scarlett has never really been exposed to much nature. Living in a city. It’s like—when I was a kid, I’d seen twenty cows and four pigs by the time I had my porridge.” Claire adjusted her weight onto one side and curled her feet up next to her. “And Scarlett shrieks with excitement when she sees so much as a duck.”

  Matt gave a snort. “Not everyone has to grow up surrounded by broken tractors and stinking piles of manure.” He saw the expression on Claire’s face. “I’m not saying there was anything wrong with your childhood. Just that your parents’ farm was shit.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. They don’t speak highly of you either.”

  Matt laughed. “I wasn’t talking about them, just the farm.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, you’d better buck up and get ready—they’re coming here on Christmas Day and they’ve got a lot to say to you.”

  Patrick saw Alex freeze, but Matt just laughed. When Matt noticed Alex’s expression, he smiled and said, “Al, she’s just joking. She wouldn’t invite them here. This weekend’s not that full-on.”

  Claire beamed at Alex.

  “I think Claire’s right about the countryside,” Patrick said. “It’s good for Scarlett to see more of nature.”

  They all sat quietly for a minute.

  Matt shifted in his seat and turned to Claire with a grin. “So what do your parents say about me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “They must say something. For you to have said that.”

  “They never mention you at all.” Claire flicked a feather off her sleeve. “Not without the word ‘lazy’ in front of your name.”

  Patrick looked at Claire. It wasn’t true.

  Patrick wanted to tell Matt they always called him “Scarlett’s father” now. That Patrick had a name to these people, and Matt didn’t anymore.

  “Shame. Despite their crap, cold house with all the chickens wandering about like they had house keys, I always had a lot of time for your folks.”

  Claire raised her gaze to the ceiling. “No, you didn’t.”

  “And your mum always had great hair, the way she did that funky thing with the slide.” Matt did a gesture with his hand, holding a bit of hair to the side.

  “Shut up.”

  “And a lovely, condescending manner with waitresses, talking down to them like an aristocrat in a period drama.” He turned to Alex. “I called her ‘the Countess.’ ”

  Alex lifted her chin in acknowledgment.

  “Not to her face.” Matt turned to Patrick. “Tell me, Pat, does she still fix you with that look when you do something wrong? Like you disgust her?”

  Patrick coughed at the use of Pat.

  “She only did that to you.” Claire got up. “More drinks, I think.”

  Matt rose. “I’ll help. You can show me how to make those watermelon things.”

  Patrick watched Matt walk away with the casual gait of a man with no worries. He took a sip of his cocktail and turned to Alex to say something. But she wasn’t looking at him.

  She was staring out of the patio window into the darkness beyond. There was a tension in the way she held her eyebrows, an expression on her face he couldn’t read.

  15

  Alex felt her step lighten as they shut the door of their bedroom.

  “I think this is the earliest on record anyone’s gone to bed.” Matt rummaged through his suitcase. “Looks like I’m going to need to borrow your toothbrush.”


  Alex swung her shoulder bag onto her chair.

  “You think they’re gonna nick your wallet?”

  Alex followed Matt’s gaze toward her bag on the chair. “Force of habit. I am in a house with strangers.”

  “They’re not stranger-strangers.”

  “Patrick is. I’ve never met him before.”

  Alex helped Matt move the beds, nudging one against the other with the side of her knee. The newly exposed carpet looked newer and scratchier than the rest, a haze of undisturbed dust crowning the tufts.

  “Matt?”

  He looked up.

  “Please don’t make me do karaoke.”

  He smiled and put his arms round her. “I’ll protect you.”

  Alex withdrew from Matt’s hug and headed for the en suite. She kept her arms close to her torso as she cleaned her teeth.

  A sound from above made Alex pause. A pulsing from upstairs: a faint, rhythmic creaking.

  She stopped mid-brush and listened for a minute, then spat into the sink. She noted the angelic whiteness of the spit-foam compared to the rusty-looking foam of the old days, now she no longer drank a liter of red wine before bed.

  Back in the bedroom, Matt sat up in bed, shirt off, phone in hand. “Did they tell you the Wi-Fi code?”

  Alex slipped into bed. She batted Matt’s phone with the back of her hand, pushing it gently away. “Or the Internet could wait till morning?”

  Matt placed the phone on the bedside table. He shuffled down the bed and kicked his legs hard and fast, flailing with the energy of a child having a tantrum, freeing the tucked-in duvet.

  Matt tugged at the duvet on Alex’s single bed, holding it next to his own, so there were no gaps for cold air. He slipped an arm round Alex and pulled her into a drafty spoon.

  Alex snuggled down into the cozy position her body found naturally in his. “So—spa vouchers. What’s that about?”

  Matt rearranged his duvet on top of Alex. “It’s a nice idea.”

  “Do you want to use the vouchers? You like sitting about doing fuck-all.”

  “I would love to take them, but Claire bought them for you. Now go and have a facial like a lovely lady.”

  “It was very thoughtful of her.”

  They lay in silence for a minute.

  “I meant to say—that was funny.” Alex tucked the duvet under her chin. “When I was in the bathroom. The upstairs pipes creak in a rhythm.”

  “That is funny, Al. Right up there with one of your dad’s anecdotes.”

  “It could have been someone having sex upstairs.”

  Matt stretched up and backward with one arm, trying to reach the switches at the side of the bed without moving away from Alex. Alex felt the pulsing strain in his chest. Around them, the lights dimmed and brightened as Matt tested the switches to find the right one.

  “On a freaky weekend like this.” Alex lifted her torso up, freeing Matt’s other arm so he could stretch farther. “As if they’d be having sex.”

  Eventually Matt found the switch that deadened all the lights. The room turned dark.

  Alex had only been making a joke, talking for the sake of talking. Yet Matt hadn’t replied.

  She shuffled up the bed on her shoulder blades. She strained to look at Matt’s face in the moonlight. She couldn’t see his expression, just his silhouette and the delicate protrusion of his eyelashes.

  “Claire wouldn’t be having sex in the enchanted forest with us downstairs, would she?”

  “How would I know?”

  Alex frowned. “I just mean, you should have an idea.”

  Matt didn’t answer.

  Alex looked at the dark shape where Matt was. “What are you thinking?”

  “You know I hate it when you ask me what I’m thinking. You think I’m having deep thoughts, and I’m actually wondering which would win in a fight, an owl or a badger.”

  “Would Claire have sex with us downstairs?”

  “An owl, I reckon. Because of the beak. And an owl could flap away to regroup if it got out of breath.”

  “Matt. Stop dodging the question.”

  “No, you stop it. You’re getting weird on me.”

  Alex shuffled up the bed, slightly more upright now.

  “Please don’t get weird,” Matt said again.

  “Why would I be weird?”

  “I can feel it in your back. You have a weird back now.”

  “I’m just thinking, that’s all. Trying to make sense of things.” Alex sat up. She reached over and flicked on the light switch. “You know I like making sense of things. It’s educational.”

  Matt blinked in the sudden brightness; he pulled the duvet over his head.

  “They wouldn’t be having sex this weekend,” Alex said. “Not with us down here.”

  “It probably was the pipes.” Acclimatized to the light, Matt let the duvet drop down so he could see Alex. “Hey. Your mouth’s gone all twisty.” He reached for her hand.

  When Matt didn’t move or say anything more, Alex switched the light off. She looked at the curtains, a rectangle of blackness framed by a border of moonlight.

  She tried to snuggle back into Matt, but her body didn’t fit his so comfortably anymore. Where there had been perfect nooks and gaps, there were now ridges and angles and too many arms.

  They lay for a minute, Alex waiting for their bodies to soften together again.

  “Al?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know you’re the most logical, most sensible person I ever met? You know you’ve got a brain like a machine?”

  Alex didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe try to remember that? Because this weekend you’re acting a little crazy.”

  Alex squeezed her eyes shut. She tensed her body, pressing her thighs together, squeezing her buttocks tightly.

  “I know,” she said eventually.

  Post-shooting interview. Ben Oakley, 65.

  Happy Forest gardener.

  Face-to-face. Happy Forest staff room.

  Hello, Officers. Sheila told me you’d come looking for me.

  No, there’s not much gardening to be done in the dark, but I’m staying around because I’m being Santa later. It’s a nice change for me, and it saves on the CRB checks.

  Of course, happy to. Have you got the photos with you?

  Yes, I saw a man and a lass arguing. That one and that one.

  Alex and Matthew? If you say so.

  I noticed because it came from nowhere. I was trimming the edging by the lake and they were walking across the lawn quietly. Then I’m not sure what happened, but he was shouting at her, and she looked like she was going to cry.

  I didn’t listen to their argument, I just got on with my edging. If Sheila had been there she would have noticed everything, but I’m more interested in what’s rustling in the bushes, or whether my perennials are showing signs they’re going to survive the winter.

  Show me the photos again.

  I saw that blond lass as well. She brought a little one to me this morning when I was Santa. She came with the bullying man. Matthew.

  It is a long day. But Christmas Eve is the busiest day of the year for us Santas.

  A few of us have talked about it. Jared is worried he’s going to get sacked because he slipped away to the bookies when he should have been supervising Alfie on the archery. Jared’s a good lad really, and they call it a medical problem, these days, if you keep having to go to the bookies. So go easy on him with the bosses, won’t you?

  Richard’s the only other one who saw something. He saw the two men arguing in the bar. Lots of swear words, apparently. But Richard’s not working today. He’s got Christmas Eve off.

  All I know is that the argument was about crisps.

&nbs
p; I suppose you’d have to know the background.

  FRIDAY 22 DECEMBER

  Day 2

  Extract from the Happy Forest brochure:

  Our carefully planned world is your oyster, even on the rainiest of days.

  The swimming complex has different mood zones and ten pools, and transforms from an oasis of calm to a thrill-seeker’s delight. Scream down our Splash Landings ride, or glide down our lazy river—any cares you have will float away.

  Alternatively, you can stock up on artisan food from our Happy Forest Market* and whip up gastronomic delights in your very own state-of-the-art kitchen.

  With home comforts this good, you’ll never want to leave.

  * Happy Forest Market closed in December for refurbishment. We apologize for any inconvenience caused.

  16

  Patrick woke up at dawn to the sound of intrusively chattering birds. Seemingly hordes of them, all squawking at his bedroom window.

  Obviously this was the birds’ territory, so it was fair enough. But how did anyone sleep in the countryside?

  Patrick looked down at Claire. She was snoring a little, one arm thrown over her face.

  Patrick threw on his gym clothes and went for a run. He ran toward the lake, through a flock of birds, sending them skyward and outward, fluttering and chattering.

  He passed the crazy golf course, and looked at the oversized photo, by the entrance, of a dad showing his daughter how to hit the ball through the windmill.

  The look of concentration on the girl’s face took Patrick right back. He remembered that wet December afternoon he’d spent five years before, teaching Amber how to do that silly card trick. How she’d watched and listened so carefully. How puffed-up she’d looked when she “guessed” his card.

  He’d never played golf with Amber, he realized now. Was he too late? Would Amber let Patrick teach her to hit a golf ball through a windmill, or had someone else already taught her that?

  Patrick wished he could take Amber and Jack to a place like this. But they were teenagers now. So had he missed the window for that too?