Alex got onto a bed and under a blanket. She shuffled up the bed so her head was under what looked like a shampoo-and-set helmet at the end.
She turned her head to the side and saw the man next to her was leaning up on his elbows, scrolling through his phone under the helmet. Doing his emails, Alex could see.
In spite of her mood, Alex smiled. Maybe she wasn’t the only person here who wasn’t good at spas.
* * *
—
In the main ambling area, Alex gravitated toward a display with tubes of bubbling water and piles of herbs in bowls.
She read the subheading. Our botanicals. The restorative properties of the natural world.
Next to Alex, a woman leaned over some lavender; she picked up a handful and sniffed it. She didn’t notice her toweling robe inching undone. Crinkled cleavage peeked further over the top of her swimming costume.
Alex read the description above the bowl.
Research shows that the essential oil of lavender reduces anxiety, insomnia, depression, and restlessness. Try our lavender experience room for the ultimate life-lift.
Alex sighed. “What do they take us for?”
The woman looked at Alex; she moved a fraction away.
Alex poured some more water into a cup. She tossed it back and threw the plastic cup into the bin. She wondered how long she had to stay here to get Claire’s money’s worth. But then she thought about the lodge.
About Patrick, lunging low in his short shorts. About Claire cooking constantly, not needing any help. About Scarlett and all her one-way conversations.
About Matt, and the look on his face that morning as he shouted at her.
Alex decided to try the lavender room after all.
* * *
—
Alex was unable to help, mentally dragging her own past into a bright, clinical light. An unflattering light: the kind that showed the lesions and imperfections.
Alex and Matt’s second date had been a daytime meal at an Italian restaurant in the city center. She had got to the restaurant to find Matt with his phone out on the table.
Matt saw her look at the phone. “I’m not planning to tweet the whole time—I’ve not turned into a complete cunt.” He kissed Alex on the cheek, smelling faintly of toothpaste.
Alex looked at her watch as she slid into the booth. Two P.M. Had Matt only just got up?
“It’s just that Claire—my ex—might phone. She might have to take her dad into hospital for tests, and want me to take Scarlett. I’m sorry in advance if I have to mess you about.”
“Is he OK? Claire’s dad?”
“They’re not sure. Some heart irregularity. He’s a beast of a man, like the giant from the sweet corn ads. He’s going to outlive all of us.” Matt looked down at the table. “I didn’t want to cancel because I wanted to see you. If it ruins our date, I’ll make it up to you.”
“You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. There’ll be other times, right?”
Matt grinned. “Right.”
And when Matt’s phone rang as they were finishing the main course, Alex didn’t even mind. She liked this guy. He was decent and wanted to do his ex a favor when her dad was ill. How could she mind?
Matt gave Alex a smile of apology. He pushed his plate away and answered the phone. “Hi, Claire.”
He listened.
“OK,” Matt said. “Now?”
Pause.
“Ah, the thing is—I’m just in town. In Piccolos on the high street. I’ve had a drink, so could you bring Scarlett here?”
Pause.
“Yeah, but we both know I’m not as perfectly organized as you.”
Pause.
“Great, we’ll stay here. Claire, I hope it’s not weird but”—Matt smiled at Alex—“I’m on a date.”
Pause.
“Yeah, we’re all grown-ups, right?”
Pause.
“OK, see you in ten.”
Matt clicked the phone off and placed it back on the table.
He leaned toward Alex. “How do you feel about hanging out with a five-year-old in the park this afternoon? I’ll shout you an ice cream—raspberry sauce and everything.”
Ten minutes later Claire bustled up to the table in a flurry of quick steps. She exuded friendly competence and, in her heeled boots and belted trench coat, looked more groomed than Alex expected Matt’s ex-wife to be.
“Hi, hi.” Claire gave Matt a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to Alex. “I’m sorry to ruin your dinner. And I’m sorry you have to meet me right now. I promise I’m not as much of a cow as he says.”
“He’s only said good things,” Alex said. “I hope your dad’s OK.”
“Thanks.” Claire jerked her head toward Matt. “Matthew’s a good man, but don’t let him get away with too much.”
“Claire!” Matt turned to Alex. “I’m a catch, Alex, don’t listen to her.” He looked around. “Where’s Scarlett anyway?”
“I left her with the maître d’. In case you didn’t want her to meet your new girlfriend yet.” She turned to Alex. “But I mean absolutely nothing by that, if you know what I mean? Literally—nothing. I have zero thoughts about it.”
“It’s fine.”
Claire gave a wave. “Lovely to meet you, Alex. Enjoy your day.” Alex watched her hurry away.
That afternoon, Alex had been impressed by Claire. And impressed by Matt, by proxy. Alex enjoyed playing the reasonable grown-up. She felt the role suited her.
The thing was—the reason why this was going round her head now, in this lavender spa room—was that she’d assumed Claire’s father’s hospital appointment was a last-minute thing. An emergency.
It was only later on she’d found out it was a routine appointment, planned way ahead, and Matt had arranged this date on the same day anyway.
Even knowing that detail, back then, Alex hadn’t thought anything of it.
But now…now she was thinking about it.
The fabric of Alex’s life was ruching up all round her, and she didn’t know which strands to pull to make it neat again.
Post-shooting interview. Alex Mount, 37.
Shooter.
Telephone.
Hello. Now’s fine.
There was no point everyone hanging around the hospital, so I came home. My friend Ruby’s here, looking after me. Though her dog’s here too, and it’s annoying, it barks at every noise from the back garden. Like it could catch a squirrel on its stumpy little legs, its belly practically scrapes on the carpet. It’s a superhero in its own mind, that dog. It’s spoiled. Ruby treats it like her baby, she—
Of course I’m not nervous.
It was an accident. I’ve never even held a bow before. I couldn’t have shot him if I’d tried.
It all happened so quickly. He was standing next to the target, pointing out where to aim. I pulled the string thing back, seeing how the bow felt in my hands, and I released the arrow accidentally. I hit him, I panicked, I called for an ambulance. That’s it.
I didn’t realize I was meant to stay on the line after calling 999. I must have put the phone on mute rather than switching it off. I was distressed, my hands were shaking.
A finger guard?
I’m just thinking.
No, I didn’t use a finger guard. I didn’t know there were any.
They probably didn’t mention it because I wasn’t even meant to be shooting. Just holding the bow.
Scarlett wasn’t there because she wanted to do a dance class instead.
I only knew it was a class, I didn’t know what type of dance. I’m not up on stuff like that. I was more of a tree-climbing kid, out on my bike all day until dark.
No, no arguments. We all got along famously, the whole trip.
We hadn’t been drin
king. At least—not before the archery.
I had given it up, but not for special occasions. And it’s Christmas, for God’s sake!
You’re right. I am upset.
Yes, and I feel guilty.
Because it was an accident, but it was still my fault. He’s in a lot of pain and his shoulder will never be the same. Everyone keeps saying it’s not my fault, but it is. If I hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have happened.
38
Patrick had been trying to do something nice—that was all. Trying to do the right thing.
Yet here was Matt, shouting at him. Right here in the pub.
But maybe the tension had started before they set off walking here. When Patrick had seen Scarlett eating a piece of toast in the lane, and said, “Scarlett, darling, you’ve just had your lunch. You’re not to eat toast in the street, it’s bad manners.”
Scarlett had looked around in an exaggerated gesture. And Patrick had followed her gaze to see Matt standing a few meters behind her, looking at Patrick with a thoughtful expression and—Patrick noticed, incredulous—also eating toast in the street.
Patrick had quickly changed the subject.
But it had been fine when they were walking here with Scarlett and Claire. And Matt had been fine when they’d got here and put the pound coins down on the pool table in reservation. He’d even been fine two minutes ago, when they’d found the chalk and chosen their cues.
But now they were buying drinks, and Matt was raising his voice to a level louder than Patrick had ever heard it before.
“Leave it, Patrick, just once. For me. Please.”
Patrick looked from Matt to Claire and back. “What’s your problem?”
“You and Claire have paid for everything this weekend. The holiday. All the food. Me and Alex haven’t paid for anything.” Matt picked the packet of kettle chips off the bar and ran his fingers along one edge. “It’s four drinks and a packet of crisps, for God’s sake.”
Patrick looked down at his wallet. “But I’ve got my money out now.”
Matt threw the packet of crisps down. The packet spun across the bar toward the teenage barman in his apron-fronted uniform. “Patrick, stop being such a bell end!”
The barman raised his eyebrows slightly.
Claire glanced at Scarlett, who was waiting at the pool table. Claire pulled Matt to the side so that Scarlett couldn’t hear their conversation. “What’s wrong with you today?”
“He’s being a bell end, Claire. You know he’s being a bell end.”
“But is that really helpful to say? In front of your daughter?”
Matt waved his hand. “She doesn’t know what it means.”
“You want her repeating it at school? Playing hopscotch and saying to her pals ‘You’re the bell end now’?”
The barman studied the glassware on the high shelf with excessive interest.
Patrick flashed the barman a smile. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for me.” Matt turned from Patrick to the barman. “Sorry, mate. But don’t you think he’s being a twat?”
The barman looked behind him. “I just need to…”
Matt got his wallet out and paid for the drinks. He reached for his beer and sank half of it, then placed it back on the bar. He pressed his lips together, squashing his beer mustache to nothing.
“Let’s just try to have fun, shall we?” Claire said.
Matt gave a sharp nod. He reached for the crisps and pulled the packet open. The movement was too hard: the bag ripped, the force scattering crisps across the bar and the carpet.
Patrick grinned. “Now who’s the bell end?”
“I’m sick of this.” Matt drained his pint and headed for the pub door.
“Matt!” Claire shouted after him.
Claire turned to Patrick. “Now what?”
Patrick shrugged and looked away. Claire had that expression on her face she used when she’d opened the egg box to realize there was only one egg left.
“I don’t know what’s got into him.” Patrick shook his head. He looked at Scarlett. “Shall we rack up? Let’s see if you can remember the order of the balls like I taught you.”
Patrick pushed the coin in the slot. He felt the balls rumble and heard them clatter through the table’s tunnels.
Scarlett arranged the triangle on the felt. She placed the balls inside the triangle with careful precision.
There was a gust of chilled air as the front doors opened again.
Matt strode up to the pool table and looked Patrick in the eye. “I’m sorry I insulted you.”
“No problem.” Patrick handed him a cue.
Matt lowered his voice to a whisper. “I was being a knob.” He turned to Scarlett and spoke at a normal volume. “I was being silly, Scarlett. Ignore me. It’s all over now.”
“All forgotten. Now”—Patrick gestured to the pool table—“hasn’t Scarlett done a good job?”
Matt forced a smile at Scarlett. “She has.”
“I taught her to rack them up like that. Some people just throw the balls in every which way, but it’s important to get them right.”
Matt nodded.
Patrick tapped the end of his cue on the floor. “So what do you think we should do about teams?”
39
Back in the house, Scarlett and Posey lay on the bed, huddled over the iPad that Mum had still forgotten to take back. Mum wasn’t herself this weekend, and that was a good thing. Scarlett and Posey kept the iPad under the bed now, and it was better this way.
Scarlett opened the iPad’s search window.
“Two ls?” Scarlett asked.
“I think so,” Posey said.
Scarlett typed the words in. She pressed search.
bell end
/bεl ͵εnd/
noun: BRITISH vulgar slang
noun: bell end; plural noun: bell ends
1. the glans of the penis
2. an annoying or contemptible person. “He is a total bell end and should step down as soon as possible.”
Scarlett and Posey looked up “glans.” Then they looked up “contemptible.”
Scarlett switched off the iPad.
“I’m not sure your daddy likes Patrick very much,” Posey said.
Scarlett put the iPad back under the bed. “No.”
Posey jumped off the bed. “Alex will be back soon. We have to get her out of here.” He started walking across the room. “We have to protect ourselves.”
Scarlett rolled onto her back. She put her hands under her head. “But what do we do?”
Posey turned and paced the other way. “I’ve thought about it, and we’ve got to get your mum and dad back together. Then he won’t need her around anymore.”
Scarlett frowned. “But what do we do about Patrick, if Mum and Dad get back together? Can he stay?”
Posey stopped pacing to think. “Does Patrick’s old wife have a new boyfriend?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then Patrick can go back to his old wife.”
“Clever. You’re good at this.”
“But your mum and dad will need help to realize they want to get back together.” Posey started pacing again. “What do they like doing together? What’s their favorite joint thing? Coloring in? Jigsaws? Ponies?”
“No.” Scarlett looked around the room for ideas, at her toys and games and clothes.
Then she remembered.
“Singing,” Scarlett said. “They never got cross with each other when they were doing karaoke. They laughed a lot.”
Posey nodded. His long purple ears jiggled with the movement. “Then let’s make sure we get them doing some singing. What was their favorite song?”
40
In late afternoon, Alex left the spa and let hers
elf back into the lodge.
In the living area, she saw the lounge had been rearranged. The coffee table and chairs were now at the side of the room, leaving a bare space of carpet in the middle of the floor.
Matt was stretched out under the TV, his rear sticking out toward the door.
“Having a good time under there?” Alex tried to make her voice light. “That isn’t your best angle.”
Matt looked round. The two made a second of eye contact before he turned back to doing something under the TV.
Alex threw her bag of wet spa things onto the dining table. She got her swimming costume out of the bag and stretched it out on the dining room radiator.
She looked round at the others. Patrick was sitting on the sofa with Scarlett on his lap. Claire was doing something in the kitchen.
Claire smiled at Alex. “How good was that? Are you converted to the spa cause?”
Alex pushed a lock of hair away from her eye. “I’ve completely relaxed.” She turned to look at Scarlett. “Thank you so much, Scarlett.”
Scarlett gave Alex a formal nod.
Matt reversed out from under the TV. “I’ve sorted it. Loose connection.” He padded backward and stood up with old-man slowness.
Alex looked at Patrick, surprised that something needed fixing, yet it was Matt who was doing it. Patrick wasn’t trying to take over, or even flapping around him.
In the kitchen, Claire put her knife down. She took another swig of her drink. “You’re our hero, Matt.”
Matt kissed his biceps in mock-manly pride.
There was too much irony in this place, Alex decided. Could anyone here form an authentic response to anything if they tried?
She turned to look at Patrick; she started. Patrick was staring pointedly at her. He’d clearly been waiting for her to turn round.
The two shared a long moment of eye contact.
Alex looked around, at the empty wine bottles scattered round the kitchen. “Looks like I’ve missed a fun afternoon.”
“It’s Christmas,” Matt said in a tight voice.
The Adults Page 19
