“What’s it about?” Matt asked.
Alex looked down at the book. She gave a little laugh. “What’s it not about?”
Claire and Matt put on coats and shut the front door behind them. Alex slipped into the bedroom and shut her door too.
Patrick was left looking down at the half-finished game of Monopoly—the game he’d apparently been playing wrong, all these years.
* * *
—
Two hours later, in the bedroom, Patrick rolled off Claire.
Claire leaped out of bed without speaking and headed into the bathroom.
Patrick lay on his back. He tucked his hands under his head.
That hadn’t gone well tonight.
He’d made it to the end, of course, but when Patrick had realized he was losing Claire’s attention, he’d pulled out all the stops, done his best throw-her-around-a-bit routine she used to enjoy, hoisting himself up on one hand athletically, straining with the effort.
In the bathroom, the automatic extractor fan whirred. Patrick listened to the rise and fall of the whirr, noticing how the fan worked harder at some points than others.
Someone needed to take a look at that motor.
Patrick lifted his head. He plumped up his pillow and lay back down. He hadn’t brought his A-game to the sex tonight—it was hard, with all the frostiness after the Ironman thing, and with the others in the house.
But then, he’d never been completely able to relax when having sex with Claire—or anyone, if he was really honest. He was there, in the moment, but he was also across the room, watching. Monitoring the activity from a distance.
She’s looking thoughtful—what’s she thinking?
That’s an odd grunt you just made, Patrick.
She’s frowning at me, am I making a strange face?
If I stretch a little farther, it will accentuate my abs.
It was even worse when Lindsay got diagnosed with endometriosis. Patrick deliberately hadn’t asked her too much about the physicality of the illness, knowing the effect it was likely to have on him. He’d just sympathized and tried to forget what she was telling him, and agreed with Lindsay to try for children immediately. But it had been a problem to concentrate that night, Patrick being distracted by the knowledge of—things—beneath. He tried not to think of the scan she’d shown him—this is where the connective tissues are stuck to the wall of the bowel. However vague Patrick kept his knowledge of her condition, every time he got intimate with her the word hissed from somewhere within. Endometriosis. Endometriosis.
Patrick watched films and heard conversations in bars: he knew not everyone felt like this. That there was a more hedonistic, Neanderthal kind of man who just got lost in the moment, grunting his way back to the Ice Age.
Not Patrick.
Still, it had become a thing when he got together with Claire that they were always going to make an effort, and weren’t going to slip into being one of those couples who never had sex. But it was starting to feel less and less natural, like they’d made a rule and they had to stick to it regardless.
Claire opened the en suite door. She switched the bathroom light off and the erratic whirr of the extractor fan stopped. She padded across the room and slipped into bed.
“Claire.” Patrick knew his voice sounded formal for a conversation in the dark.
“Patrick.”
“Would you ever want to get married again?”
He felt movement from the other side of the mattress. He heard slithering as Claire pulled herself up into a sitting position.
After a minute she said, “I don’t know.”
Patrick stared into the blackness, waiting.
“We’ve been there, done that, haven’t we?” He felt her hand give his chest a pat. “Night.”
There was movement and more slithering of sheets. Claire lay back down and arranged the bedding around her.
Patrick felt the patch of his chest where she’d patted it. He’d been aware of the warmth for a second, but now he was more aware of the absence of that warmth.
He took a long swallow. “Claire?”
“Patrick.”
“I’m definitely going to do that Ironman in April.”
“I’m going to sleep now.”
Patrick touched the flatness of his stomach in a self-soothing gesture. Claire didn’t say anything else, so Patrick turned over and closed his eyes.
He lay there and waited for sleep to come.
34
The creaking noise from upstairs stopped.
Alex lay there under the covers in the dark, listening to the soft, rhythmic snufting from the bed next to her—a snufting accompanied by the occasional loud click.
The first night she slept with Matt, she’d found the click disconcerting. In Alex’s experience, a lot of things clicked—but not faces. Faces didn’t click.
When she’d asked Matt about it the next morning, he had laughed.
“I should have warned you. I broke my nose as a child and there’s a flap of skin or gristle—something—where it shouldn’t be.” He lifted his chin so Alex could look up his nostrils. “See?”
By now, Alex was used to that click. When she couldn’t sleep, she found herself actively listening for it. She wondered if she could ever sleep next to anyone else happily. Someone who didn’t click.
But she hadn’t thought she’d need to. She’d thought that she and Matt were it: final. The End: scroll credits.
It occurred to Alex now that she knew nothing about relationships. Because how could she? She’d split up with everyone she’d ever dated.
Even when she’d been going out with her early-years, VHS boyfriends, they had a spangly futuristic air about them in the period before they became obsolete.
Could Matt be another VHS boyfriend after all?
Snuft. Snuft. Snuft. Click.
Alex had read that the biggest indicator of a successful relationship was meant to be how you felt about the other person’s smell. And she liked Matt’s smell: all biscuits and wool on top, an undercurrent of something sour in a good way. A sourness that made her rest her head on his chest and breathe him in.
Yet Matt thought Claire smelled like home. Even though Matt lived at Alex’s house now. Their house, in fact.
OK, so they hadn’t bought it together. But the place was rammed with Matt’s junk: vinyl and shoes and faddy skateboard equipment everywhere—so if it didn’t feel like home to him by now, he’d better bloody well act more polite, like an actual guest.
Alex gave a huffy turn, inadvertently disrupting her warmth seals. She reworked the duvet around her, tucking the edges under her so the cold gusts of air couldn’t reach.
The night rumbled on.
Snuft. Snuft. Snuft. Click.
Post-shooting interview. Ruby Brown, 36.
Friend of shooter.
Telephone.
Hello, Alex’s phone?
She’s gone out to get some milk. I’m trying to distract her with tasks, she’s been so jittery since she got back. But then—she has shot someone. Bless her and her shit coordination.
Yeah, she skids around our lab like she’s on roller skates. They never should have let her near a bow and arrow. I’d barely trust her with a knife and fork.
Ruby. We’re lab buddies.
At her house in Nottingham. She didn’t want to stay up there, for obvious reasons. It’s no skin off my nose, leaving my family at Christmas. I’ve got Kevin with me—that’s my fat dachshund—so my real family’s here. Kevin’s way more appreciative of my company, and he doesn’t have a crying fit if the sprouts are ready a different time from the gravy.
Check out your sexist assumptions, Grandpa. It’s my stepdad who does the cooking.
If you must know, Alex and Matt get on really well, but he
thinks the world’s all candy floss and roller coasters, and he’d like to teach the world to sing, and Alex goes along with his stupid ideas too much. This weekend, for example. What a terrible thought that was.
I don’t mean the accident, I mean the whole trip. You know, she even made a Christmas cake? Alex? And she went to a spa, which, if you knew her, would blow your mind.
No, you’ve got that wrong. Alex doesn’t drink.
She didn’t tell me that.
I’m just disappointed for her. She’s been doing really well this last year.
I’m sure she wouldn’t have drunk before doing archery. Alex is clumsy, but she’s very responsible. Pays her credit card off each month, always properly marks up the lab equipment.
A burlesque class? What a ridiculous suggestion. No way.
I think you’re getting Alex mixed up with someone else.
I’m telling you, you’re wrong. There is no way—no way—Alex would take a seven-year-old to a burlesque class.
SATURDAY 23 DECEMBER
Day 3
Extract from the Happy Forest brochure:
There’s so much to explore at the Happy Forest.
Why not take one of our tranquil nature walks? Or set sail on our custom-built grand lake? In our acres of private woodland, your imagination will roam as free as our wildlife.
And it’s not just for children here—there are plenty of activities for grown-ups too. If you’re in need of a little pampering, our spa has several treatment areas and a relaxation lounge with twenty different immersion rooms.
We also have an on-site pub, the Five Bells, complete with seven pool tables. So why not relax and have a few drinks? Remember, in our car-free village, no one ever needs to drive home!
35
Alex felt her happy pocket of warmth being disturbed. She clutched fruitlessly at the duvet as it was wrenched from her grasp. A gust of freezing air hit her stomach. Her pajama top had ridden up in the night, and most of the material was now wedged in a lump in her armpit.
Matt clambered inelegantly across from his own twin bed onto hers. He got under Alex’s duvet, tucking himself in a zigzag behind her. “Morning.”
Alex felt her thighs goose-pimpling. “Delicate.”
“Always.”
Matt squeezed in further, while Alex gripped the duvet corner more tightly.
“How are you?” Matt said into Alex’s hair.
“Asleep.” But Alex softened herself into Matt’s body, feeling the warmth.
“I’ve been lying here thinking. Shall we do something on our own this morning? Hire a boat on the lake, just the two of us? We can re-create that scene from Titanic. Arms out. You can be King of the World, if you want.”
Alex turned her head to look at Matt. She held herself slightly away, so as not to hit him with her morning breath. “I’d like that.”
“Then we can take Scarlett out for lunch,” Matt said. “I’ll get her to be nice to you, I promise. And I’ll tell her she’s got to leave Posey in a burrow somewhere. That rabbit can be a cold piece of work sometimes.”
Alex turned her head round, Exorcist-style, stretching as far as her neck would allow. She kissed Matt softly on the cheek.
* * *
—
Matt rowed with an excessively splashy motion, making the occasional mock-manly grunt, while Alex took in the scene around them.
The lake was small, decorated with signs and barriers. Canoes and dinghies littered the lake, and kids in helmets and life jackets shrieked all around. A rotten-vegetable-and-plastic smell hovered over the lake surface in a pungent, almost visible cloud.
“It’s OK for you, sitting there like Cleopatra.” Matt pulled on the oars. “I don’t know how Patrick can be arsed doing rowing at the gym. Are we there yet?”
Alex looked around. They were about as far as they could be from land without actually heading back in.
Matt rested the oars back on their hooks. He stood up in a careful semi-squat, arms out. He took a tentative step forward and bumped himself down on the seat opposite Alex.
They both watched a moorhen float past.
Matt looked over Alex’s shoulder at something in the semi-distance. “Look at Patrick, legs pumping away like he’s running from the Gestapo. No, don’t look—you’ll only encourage him.”
“You’ve got a lot to say about him, haven’t you?”
Matt gave Alex a serious look. “I just wish he and Claire were better suited.” He looked into Alex’s eyes. “I want her to be happy.”
Alex twisted her gloved hands together in her lap. “You don’t think she is?”
“Patrick won’t make her happy.”
“You never know what’s going on in other people’s relationships.” And, she reflected archly, in your own.
“Claire can’t be herself around him,” Matt said. “I’m watching her, and she’s being all considered and careful. She can’t just dick about.”
“Maybe she’s grown up since you were together. Not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Maybe.” Matt shifted in his seat, turning to face Alex head-on. Alex put her hands on the side of the boat, steadying it. “But you know what I found out yesterday? She’s told him she’s only slept with a handful of people!”
Alex tucked a piece of hair behind her ear in a careful movement.
Matt snorted. “God knows how many people she’s slept with, but she never did like to end an evening alone back in the day. Not when she was single.”
Alex created an image in her head: Claire as Jessica Rabbit, leaning on a grand piano, swaying her hips and singing. Alex conjured in her mind the red dress. The smoky bar.
“How would you even know how many people Claire’s slept with?” Alex said.
“We were mates at uni, before we were anything else. We only started going out a few years later.” Matt rested his hands on the oars. “Besides, we talked openly about things, like you’re meant to. What kind of relationship is it if you can’t tell people the truth? I mean, you know everything about me.”
“I do,” Alex said hollowly.
“The driving ban.”
“Yep.”
“You even know my meditation mantra after I went on that wank course.”
“I’m definitely not meant to know that.”
“The time I shat myself in that bar after too much coke.”
“I know a little too much about some things.”
“See? That’s how things should be. You know all that, and you still love me.”
The boat gently rotated. The glare from the low winter sun dazzled Alex. She put a hand up to her eyes to shade them. “You don’t like Patrick, do you?” She squinted to make out Matt’s face. “I thought you liked everyone.”
Matt sighed. “He’s fine. He’s harmless. I don’t like to think he’s going to be the man in the house while Scarlett’s growing up.” He leaned forward. “All his ‘Don’t shout in the street’ and ‘What will the neighbors think?’ Implying the most important thing is that Scarlett goes out dressed appropriately and keeps her virginity till she’s twenty-five.”
“Has he said that?” Alex said.
“He doesn’t need to. I can tell. God knows what he says about me. ‘Your dad with his hair.’ ‘Think he could lift this tree?’ ‘Think he could run a marathon?’ ‘He’s never run a marathon in his life.’ ”
Alex rubbed his leg. “You can balance it out. You’ll be a good role model for Scarlett at weekends.” Her voice became tentative as she pictured Matt making a bong out of an apple. “And Claire’s definitely got her head screwed on,” she added, with more certainty.
“I just hope Claire ends it with him. Soon.”
Alex looked down. She brushed her hand along the side of the boat, sticking on a splinter. “I thought you want
ed her to be happy?”
“She’ll never be happy with him.”
Alex picked at the splinter with her thumbnail. “Have you discussed this with her?”
“She’s said a few things.”
Alex picked too hard at the wood; the splinter went under her nail. She made to yelp but stopped herself. Matt didn’t notice.
Alex pulled a tissue out of her jacket pocket and wrapped it round her thumb. “When did Claire say these things?”
“When you two were at the shops yesterday.”
“Wasn’t Scarlett there?”
Matt stood up. “We chatted a little when Scarlett was upstairs.” He put his hands on each boat edge and deliberately rocked the boat.
Alex put her hands on the edges of the boat to steady herself. “Hey!”
Matt grinned and sat back down.
Alex shaded her eyes again. “Did you and Claire talk about us?”
“A little bit.”
Alex couldn’t see Matt’s face because of the sun in her eyes. “What did you say?”
Matt squeezed her arm. “What do you think?”
Alex gave a wan smile.
“Now”—Matt looked around him—“I think we can both agree this boat trip was not worth twenty-two quid. Shall we head back to land and get a beer?”
Alex looked around at the boats and canoes brimming with life-jacketed children. An empty crisp packet floated past the boat. “I think I’ve seen everything I need to see.”
Matt rowed back toward the jetty. He strained with the oars, his movements slower and less splashy now.
Alex smiled at Matt. He smiled back as he pulled on the oars.
* * *
—
Alex and Matt walked back from the lake together.
Alex shoved her hands into her jean pockets. She tried to take a deep breath, but something was blocking her chest. She could only breathe in halfway.
The Adults Page 16
