A Spot of Bother

by Mark Haddon

He imagined stepping into the road without looking and being hit by a car and not feeling any pain, any surprise, not feeling anything really, just a kind of detached interest at what was happening to this person who wasn’t really him anymore.

  The following day he got a surprise phone call from Ian and agreed to go out for a drink. They’d met ten years back on a beach in Cornwall and realized they lived four streets away from each other back in London. Training to be a vet. Poor bloke came out at twenty-five, tested positive after four years of monogamy, went into a tailspin and started committing a slow expensive suicide with cigarettes, alcohol, cocaine and chaotic sex till he lost a foot in a motorbike accident, spent a month in hospital and disappeared to Australia.

  Jamie had got a postcard of a wombat a few months later saying things were looking up, then nothing for two years. Now he was back.

  He’d be having a crappier time than Jamie. Or he’d be bearing up stoically. Either way, a couple of hours in his company promised to make Jamie’s troubles seem manageable in comparison.

  Jamie arrived late and was relieved to find he’d got there first. He was in the process of buying himself a lager, however, when a lean, tanned man in a tight black T-shirt with no discernible limp said, “Jamie,” and wrapped him in a bear hug.

  And for fifteen or twenty minutes it all went swimmingly. It was good to hear how Ian had turned everything round. And his stories about bizarre horse diseases and big spiders were genuinely funny. Then Jamie explained about Tony, and Ian brought up the subject of Jesus, which didn’t happen in bars very often. He wasn’t completely whacko about it. Made it sound more like an amazing new diet. But coupled with the new body it was unnerving. And when Ian headed off for a pee, Jamie found himself staring at two men on the far side of the bar, one dressed as a devil (red velour catsuit, horns, trident), one as an angel (wings, white vest, puffball skirt), who were doubtless en route to a fancy dress party with the cowboy at the bar (chaps, spurs), but it made Jamie feel as if he’d taken some ill-advised drug, or that everyone else had. And he realized that he was meant to be at home here, but he wasn’t.

  Then Ian came back to the table and sensed Jamie’s unease and changed the subject to his own rather active love life which seemed contrary to most of the teachings of Christianity insofar as Jamie understood them. Jamie was beginning to suffer that befuddled incomprehension old people felt when you told them about the Internet and he wondered whether he’d just failed to keep up with what had been happening in churches recently.

  He went home, after a slightly uneasy parting with Ian during which he promised to think seriously about the possibility of coming to an evangelical meeting in Kings Cross, and Ian gave him another bear hug which Jamie now realized was a Christian hug, not a real one.

  Several hours later he had a dream in which he was chasing Tony through an endless series of interconnecting rooms, some from his old school, some from properties he’d sold over the past few years, and he was shouting but Tony couldn’t hear him and Jamie couldn’t run because of the tiny creatures on the floors, like baby birds with human faces, which mewed and squealed when he trod on them.

  When he finally woke at seven he found himself going straight to the phone to ring Tony. He caught himself just in time.

  He was going to sort this out. He’d go round to Tony’s flat after work. Say his piece. Give him shit for not answering the phone. Find out if he’d moved. Whatever. Just put an end to all this waiting.

  84

  David was having a new boiler installed, so Jean was sitting with him in the garden of the Fox and Hounds. The idea made her nervous at first, but David was right. The place was empty and they were yards from the car if they needed to slip away.

  She was drinking a gin and tonic, which she didn’t normally do on her way home from the school. If George asked questions she could always blame Ursula. She needed some Dutch courage. Her life was an unholy mess at the moment and she had to make it simpler.

  She said, “I’m not sure how long we can carry on doing this.”

  “You mean you want to stop?” asked David.

  “Maybe. Yes.” It sounded so harsh now she was saying it out loud. “Oh, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “George,” she said. “George being ill.” Wasn’t it obvious?

  “And that’s all?” asked David.

  He seemed untroubled, and she was beginning to find his confidence annoying. How could he sail through all this? “It’s not a small thing, David.”

  He took her hand.

  She said, “It feels different now. It feels wrong.”

  He said, “You haven’t changed. I haven’t changed.”

  It exasperated her sometimes. The way men could be so sure of themselves. They put words together like sheds or shelves and you could stand on them they were so solid. And those feelings which overwhelmed you in the small hours turned to smoke.

  He said, “I’m not trying to bully you.”

  “I know.” But she wasn’t sure about this.

  “If you were ill, if you were seriously ill, I would still love you. If I was seriously ill, I hope you’d still love me.” He looked into her eyes. For the first time he looked sad and this put her at ease. “I love you, Jean. It’s not just words. I mean it. I’ll wait if I have to. I’ll put up with things. Because that’s what love means. And I know George is ill. And I know it makes your life difficult. But it’s something we have to live with and sort out. And I don’t know how we’ll do it, but we will.”

  She found herself laughing.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Me,” she said. “You’re absolutely right. And it’s infuriating. But you’re still right.”

  He squeezed her hand.

  They sat in silence for a few moments. David fished something from his shandy and a large agricultural vehicle rumbled by on the far side of the hedge.

  “I feel dreadful,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “The wedding.”

  He looked relieved.

  “I was so thrown by what was happening to George that I…Katie must be having a dreadful time. Planning to get married. Then canceling the wedding. The two of them living together. I should have been sympathetic. But we just argued.”

  “You had enough on your plate.”

  “I know, but…”

  “At the least the wedding’s off,” said David.

  It seemed like a callous thing to say. “But it’s so sad.”

  “Not as sad as getting married to someone you don’t love,” said David.

  85

  They were getting married.

  Katie felt excited about it in a way she hadn’t before. She knew she was doing the right thing this time. They were going to be in charge. It really was going to be their wedding. And a part of her was secretly pleased that the news was going to piss people off.

  She’d worried about asking Ray. Would he believe her? Would he want to take the risk of her getting cold feet a second time?

  Then she thought, Fuck it. What else were you supposed to do when you loved someone and wanted to marry them? And if the invitations had already been sent, well, it seemed wise to pop the question pretty quickly.

  So she girded her loins and asked. On bended knee. So she could make it funny if it all went horribly wrong.

  He lit up. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

  She was so surprised she found herself trying to make him change his mind. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Hey.” He took hold of her shoulders.

  “What?”

  “I said yes. I said I wanted to marry you.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You know what?” asked Ray.

  “What?”

  “You’re back again.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The old you,” he said.

  “So you really do want to get married? In a fortnight?”

  “
Only if you promise not to ask me again.”

  “I promise.”

  They stared at each other for five seconds or so, letting it sink in. Then they jumped up and down like children.

  She expected Mum to be angry. Given the hassle. But she seemed oddly resigned. Apparently, she hadn’t even got around to telling the guests it was off. Maybe she suspected this was going to happen all along.

  Katie said they’d arrange everything. All she needed were the phone numbers. There was nothing Mum had to do. “And Ray and I are going to pay. After all we’ve put you through it seems only fair.”

  “Well, if you insist,” said Mum. “Though I’m not sure how your father is going to feel about it.”

  “Richer,” said Katie, but Mum didn’t laugh. “How is Dad, incidentally?”

  “He seems fine.” She didn’t seem very happy about this.

  “Good,” said Katie. Perhaps Mum was just having a bad day. “That’s really good news.”

  The florists were downright rude. They could still squeeze the job in but it would cost more. Katie said she’d get flowers from someone nicer and put the phone down, full of an uplifting righteous indignation she hadn’t felt for a long time, and thought, Bugger flowers. Ray suggested they pick up a bouquet on the morning of the wedding and this struck them both as very funny.

  The caterers were more understanding. Indeed they seemed to think she’d just come out of hospital, which involved some rapid footwork on Katie’s part, and when she mumbled something about tests coming back negative there was actual cheering from the other end of the line. “We’d be honored to provide the food.”

  The cake people weren’t even aware that the wedding was off and clearly thought Katie was insane.

  86

  When George gave Jean the flowers she cried. It was not the reaction he was expecting. And she was not crying because the flowers were especially beautiful, that much seemed obvious (he had been forced to buy them from the little supermarket near the bus stop and even he could tell that they were not superior flowers).

  She was, perhaps, still upset about his misadventure in the bath. Or about the carpet (the fitters were not coming till the following week). Or about the row she had had with Katie and Jamie. Or about the wedding being off. Or about the wedding being on again. Or about the fact that Katie and Ray were now organizing it themselves so that she no longer had a controlling stake in the event. The possibilities were numerous. And, in his experience, women could get upset about things that never even occurred to most men.

  He decided not to pry.

  His own feelings about the wedding were ones of weary acceptance. He would wait to see what happened and deal with it when it did. If Katie and Ray made a hash of things they were, at least, paying for it.

  The idea of giving a speech was less worrisome than it had been. He was feeling stronger now and the problem did not seem as insurmountable as it had done previously.

  If only he’d known that her marriage to Graham wasn’t going to last, he would have kept a copy of the speech he used first time around.

  He could do a little potted biography, perhaps. Illustrate how the small tearaway of thirty years ago had turned into…into what? “An accomplished young woman”? “An accomplished young woman and a wonderful mother”? “The woman you see before you”? None of the phrases sounded quite right.

  “The best daughter in the world”? That was perhaps overstating the case a little.

  “Into my very favorite daughter.” That was it. Lightly humorous. Complimentary without being sentimental.

  Maybe he should run it past Jean. To be honest, tone was never his forte. Striking a serious note. Striking an ironic note. Which is why he had always ducked out of making speeches at leaving do’s and Christmas parties. There were always smoother men than him eager to step into the breach.

  He would leave out the first marriage and some of the more serious teenage misdemeanors. No one was going to be amused by Katie spilling coffee into a bar fire and causing an explosion that took wallpaper off. Or were they? These things were so hard to judge.

  He would tell them about her plans to be a racing driver, and the morning she borrowed his car keys, loosened the hand brake of the Vauxhall Chevette and rolled into the garage door, very nearly chopping Jamie in half.

  The one thing he wasn’t going to do was to write the thing till a couple of days before the event. He did not want to tempt fate, and his daughter was entirely capable of canceling the wedding a second time.

  Another subject he ought to avoid.

  He rang the restaurant in Oundle and booked a table. Jean was still under the weather and stronger medicine than flowers was clearly called for. And the reports were correct. The fish was very good indeed. George had sea bream with spinach and pine kernels and one of those nouvelle cuisine puddles of sauce. Jean had the trout.

  There was a little black cloud over her head during the main course. So when dessert came he threw caution to the wind and asked what the matter was.

  She took a very long time indeed to answer. Which George could understand. He had suffered from a few mental wobbles recently which were not easily put into words.

  Finally, Jean spoke. “In the hospital.”

  “Yes?”

  “I said something to Katie.”

  “Yes?” George relaxed a little. It was mother-daughter stuff. High temperature, short duration.

  “I was rather stupid.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t.”

  “I told her I was relieved,” said Jean. “That the wedding was off.”

  “OK.”

  “I said we’d had our doubts about Ray from the beginning.”

  “Which, of course, we had.”

  “She told Ray. I’m absolutely sure of it. I could see it in his eyes.”

  George chewed this over for a minute or two. When men had problems they wanted someone to give them an answer, but when women had problems they wanted you to say that you understood. It was something David had told him at Shepherds, the summer when Pam’s son joined that cult.

  He said, “You’re worried that Ray hates you.”

  “Hates us, actually.” Jean’s mood lifted visibly.

  “Well, I suspect he’s always known that we don’t see eye to eye with him.”

  “That’s not quite the same as having it spelled out.”

  “You’re quite right. And now that I come to think about it, his behavior was a little strange when he came to pick me up at the hospital.”

  “In what way?” Jean looked nervous again.

  “Well…” George scanned his memory of the meeting rapidly to make sure it contained nothing that might upset Jean. “He said everything was a bloody mess back at the house.”

  “Well, he was right there.”

  “He said that I was the sanest person in the family. I think it was meant to be a joke.” It was obviously a better joke than George realized because Jean started laughing quietly. “It seemed a little unkind to you, I have to say.” He took hold of Jean’s hand. “It’s good to see you laughing. I haven’t seen you laughing in a long time.”

  She started crying again.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” He let go of her hand. “I’ll give Ray a ring. See if I can set things straight.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  He did not know whether it was wise. Or whether he could be trusted. To be honest, he had very little idea why he had made such a foolhardy suggestion. But there was no turning back. And if there was some small thing he could do to make Jean happier, then it was the least he could do.

  87

  Jamie got home from work to find a message on the answerphone from Katie saying the wedding was back on. She seemed positively jubilant. And her cheeriness made him feel more optimistic than he’d done in a while. Perhaps everyone’s luck was turning.

  He was tempted to ring her straight back, but he needed to sort som
ething else out first.

  He parked just round the corner from Tony’s flat and gathered his thoughts, not wanting to fuck it up this time.

  Seven o’clock on a Monday evening. If Tony was going to be in at any time, he was going to be in now.

  What was Jamie going to say? It seemed so obvious what he felt. But when he tried to put it into words it sounded clumsy and unconvincing and sentimental. If only you could lift a lid on the top of your head and say, “Look.”

  This was pointless.

  He knocked on the door and wondered whether Tony had actually moved house, because the door was answered by a young woman he’d never seen before. She had long dark hair and was wearing men’s pajama trousers with a pair of unlaced Doc Martens. She was holding a lit cigarette in one hand and a tattered paperback in the other.

  “I’m looking for Tony.”

  “Ah-ha,” she said. “You must be the infamous Jamie.”

  “I’m not sure about infamous.”

  “I was wondering when you were going to drop round.”

  “Do we know each other?” said Jamie, trying to make it sound literal rather than standoffish. It was starting to feel like that meeting with Ian. Not knowing what on earth was going on.

  The woman juggled the paperback into her cigarette hand and held out the other to be shaken. “Becky. Tony’s sister.”

  “Hi,” said Jamie, shaking her hand. And now that he thought about it he did recognize her face from photographs and felt bad for not having taken more interest at the time.

  “The one you’ve been avoiding,” said Becky.

  “Have I?” asked Jamie. Though it was less a case of avoiding. More a case of failing to make a deliberate effort. “Anyway, I thought you lived in…” Shit. He shouldn’t have started that sentence. She let him carry on without help. “Somewhere a long way away.”

  “Glasgow. Then Sheffield. You coming in, or are we going to stand out here talking?”

  “Is Tony in?”

  “Are you only coming in if he’s here?”

  Jamie got the distinct sense that Tony wasn’t in and that Becky was going to give him some kind of grilling, but now didn’t seem like the time to be ungracious to a member of Tony’s family. “I’ll come in.”