51
Mel Gibson was hanging
from a chain in a rudimentary shower and an Oriental man was torturing him with a pair of jump leads.
George was so engrossed that when he heard a knock on the door his first thought was that Katie had arranged an immediate visit from Dr. Barghoutian.
When the door opened, however, it was Jacob.
“I want to watch my video,” said Jacob.
George fumbled for the remote. “And what’s your video?”
Mel Gibson screamed, then vanished.
“Bob the Builder,”
said Jacob.
“Right.” George suddenly remembered the last time Jacob had joined him in this room. “Is your daddy with you?”
“Which daddy?” asked Jacob.
George felt a little dizzy. “Is Graham here?” It seemed to be a day on which anything was possible.
“No. And Daddy Ray isn’t here. He went…He went away and he didn’t come back.”
“Right,” said George. He wondered what Jacob meant. It was probably best not to ask. “This video…”
“Can I watch it?”
“Yes. You can watch it,” said George.
Jacob ejected
Lethal Weapon,
inserted
Bob the Builder
and rewound it with the casual skill of a technician at mission control.
Which was how young people took over the world. All that fiddling with new technology. You woke up one day and realized your own skills were laughable. Woodwork. Mental arithmetic.
Jacob fast-forwarded through the adverts, stopped the tape and climbed onto the bed next to George. He smelt better this time, biscuity and sweet.
It occurred to George that Jacob wasn’t going to talk about panic attacks, or suggest counseling. And this was a reassuring thought.
Did they ever go insane, children? Properly insane, not just handicapped like the Henderson girl? He was unsure. Perhaps there was not enough brain to malfunction till they reached university.
Jacob was looking at him. “You have to press
PLAY
.”
“Sorry.” George pressed
PLAY
.
Cheery music began and the titles came up over a starlit model snowscape. Two plastic reindeer trotted off into the pine trees and a toy man roared into the shot on his motorized skidoo.
The motorized skidoo had a face.
Jacob stuck his thumb in his mouth and held on to George’s index finger with his free hand.
Tom, the aforesaid toy man, went into his polar field station and picked up the ringing phone. The screen split to show his brother, Bob, at the other end of the line, calling from a builder’s yard in England.
A steamroller, a digger and a crane were standing outside the office.
The steamroller, the digger and the crane had faces, too.
George cast his mind back to Dick Barton and the Goons, to Lord Snooty and Biffo the Bear. Over the intervening years everything seemed to have got louder and brighter and faster and simpler. In another fifty years children would have the attention spans of sparrows and no imagination whatsoever.
Bob was dancing round the builder’s yard, singing, “Tom’s coming for Christmas! Tom’s coming for Christmas…!”
Maybe George was fooling himself. Maybe old people always fooled themselves, pretending that the world was going to hell in a handcart because it was easier than admitting they were being left behind, that the future was pulling away from the beach, and they were standing on their little island bidding it good riddance, knowing in their hearts that there was nothing left for them to do but sit around on the shingle waiting for the big diseases to come out of the undergrowth.
George concentrated on the screen.
Lethal Weapon
was rather trite, too, when one thought about it.
Bob was helping prepare the town square for the annual Christmas Eve concert by Lenny and the Lasers.
Jacob hotched a little closer and took hold of George’s hand.
While Bob worked round the clock to make the concert go smoothly, Tom stopped to rescue a reindeer from a crevasse en route to the ferry and missed the boat. The Christmas reunion was off.
Bob was very sad.
Unaccountably, George was rather sad, too. Especially during the childhood flashback in which Tom got a toy elephant for Christmas and broke it and wept, and Bob mended it for him.
A little while later Lenny (of the Lasers) heard about Bob’s plight and flew to the North Pole in his private jet to bring Tom back in time for Christmas Eve, and when Tom and Bob were reunited at the concert there were actual tears running down George’s face.
“Are you sad, Grandpa?” asked Jacob.
“Yes,” said George. “Yes, I am.”
“Is that because you’re dying?” asked Jacob.
“Yes,” said George. “Yes, it is.” He put his arm round Jacob and pulled him close.
After a couple of minutes Jacob squeezed free.
“I need a poo.” He got off the bed and left the room.
The tape ended and the screen was filled with white noise.
52
Katie pulled up a
chair.
“We’re going to hire the long marquee.” Mum put her glasses on and opened the catalog. “It’ll fit. Just. But the pegs will have to go in the flower border. Now…” She extracted an A4 sheet showing the floor plan of the tent. “For the top table we can go round or oblong. It’s eight per table and a maximum of twelve tables which makes—”
“Ninety-six,” said Katie.
“—including the top table. Did you bring your list of guests?”
Katie hadn’t.
“Honestly, Katie, I can’t do this all by myself.”
“It’s been a little hectic recently.”
She should have told Mum about Ray. But she couldn’t stand the idea of Mum being smug about it. Handling Dad was difficult enough. And by the time they were discussing rich chocolate mousse versus tiramisu it was too late.
She wrote a guest list off the top of her head. If she missed an aunt, Ray could bloody well explain himself. Assuming the wedding happened. Oh well, she’d deal with that eventuality another time.
“I told you Jamie might be bringing someone, didn’t I,” said Mum.
“His name’s Tony, Mum.”
“Sorry. I was just…You know, I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.”
“They’ve been together for longer than me and Ray.”
“And you’ve met him,” said Mum.
“You mean, will Dad be able to cope?”
“I mean, is he nice?”
“I’ve only met him once.”
“And…?” asked Mum.
“Well, if the leather shorts and the blond fun wig are anything to goby…”
“You are teasing me, aren’t you.”
“I am.”
Mum looked suddenly serious. “I just want you to be happy. Both of you. You’re still my children.”
Katie took Mum’s hand. “Jamie is sensible. He’ll probably choose a better man than either of us.”
Mum looked even more serious and Katie wondered whether she’d overstepped the mark a little.
“You are happy with Ray, aren’t you?” asked Mum.
“Yes, Mum, I’m happy with Ray.”
“Good.” Her mother readjusted her glasses. “Now. Flowers.”
After an hour or so, they heard footsteps and Katie turned round to see Jacob grinning in the doorway, his trousers and nappy dragging from one leg.
“I did a poo. I did it…I did it in the toilet. All on my own.”
Katie scanned the perfect beige carpet for brown chunks. “Well done you.” She got up and walked over. “But you really should have given me a shout first.”
“Grandpa said he didn’t want to wipe my bottom.”
After she’d put Jacob to bed Katie came downstairs to find Mum pouring two glasses of wine and saying, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Katie took the wine, hoped it was something trivial and the pair of them went through to the living room.
“I know you’ve got a lot to think about at the moment and I know I shouldn’t be saying this to you.” Mum sat down and took an uncharacteristically large gulp of wine. “But you’re the only person who really understands.”
“OK…” said Katie, gingerly.
“Over the last six months…” Mum put her hands together as if she was about to pray. “Over the last six months I’ve been seeing someone.”
Mum said the phrase “seeing someone” very carefully, as if it were French.
“I know,” said Katie, who really, really, really did not want to be talking about this.
“No, I don’t think you do,” said Mum, “I mean…I’ve been seeing another man.” She paused and said, “A man who is not your father,” just to make it absolutely clear.
“I know,” Katie said again. “It’s David Symmonds, isn’t it. The chap who used to work with Dad.”
“How on earth did you…?” Mum gripped the arm of the sofa.
It was briefly rather fun, having Mum on the back foot. And then it wasn’t, because her mother looked terrified.
“Well…” Katie cast her mind back. “You said you’d met him in the shop. He’s separated from his wife. He’s an attractive man. For his age. You said you’d met him again. You started buying expensive clothes. And you were…you were holding yourself in a different way. It seemed pretty clear to me that you were…” She let the sentence dangle.
Mum was still gripping the arm of the sofa. “Do you think your father knows?”
“Has he said anything?”
“No.”
“Then I think you’re safe,” said Katie.
“But if you noticed…”
“Girl radar,” said Katie.
Girl radar?
It sounded wrong as soon as it came out of her mouth. But Mum was relaxing visibly.
“It’s OK, Mum,” said Katie, “I’m not going to give you a hard time.”
Was it OK? Katie wasn’t sure. It looked a bit different now it was out in the open. So long as Mum didn’t want sex tips.
“Except it’s not OK,” said Mum, plowing doggedly on.
For a short, fuddled moment Katie wondered if Mum was pregnant. “Why not?”
She examined the varnish on her nails. “David has asked me to leave your father.”
“Ah.” Katie stared into the wobbly orange light coming from the fake coal fire and remembered Jamie, years ago, taking it apart to examine the little metal propellers turned by the hot air coming off the bulbs.
“Actually,” said Mum, “that’s unfair to David. He said he wants me to come and live with him. But he understands that I might not want to. That it might not be possible.”
Now Katie was on the back foot.
“He doesn’t want to rush me. And he’s happy for things to stay as they are. He just wants…He wants to spend more time with me. And I want to spend more time with him. But it’s very, very difficult. As you can imagine.”
God, he smoked those weird ladies’ cigars, didn’t he. “What about Dad?”
“Well, yes, there is that, too,” said Mum.
“He’s in the middle of having a nervous breakdown.”
“He’s certainly not very well.”
“He can’t leave the bedroom.”
“Actually, he does come down occasionally,” said Mum. “To make tea and go to the video shop.”
Katie said, quietly but firmly, “You can’t leave Dad. Not at the moment. Not while he’s like this.”
Katie had never stood up for Dad before. She felt oddly noble and grown up, putting her prejudices to one side.
“I’m not planning to leave your father,” said Mum. “I just wanted…I just wanted to tell you.” She leaned over and took Katie’s hand for a few moments. “Thank you. I feel better for having got it off my chest.”
They sat in silence. The orange light flickered under the plastic coals and Katie heard a distant burst of Hollywood gunfire from upstairs.
Mum eased herself off the sofa. “I’d better go and see if he needs anything.”
Katie sat for several minutes, staring at the foxhunting print on the far wall. The storm over the hill. The lopsided farm dog. The fallen rider who, she could see now, was about to be crushed by the hooves of the horses jumping the hedge behind him.
She’d seen it every day for eighteen years and never really looked at it.
She poured herself another glass of wine.
The frightening thing was how alike they were. She and Mum. Putting the thing with David to one side for the moment. Putting the thing with Ray to one side for the moment.
Mum was in love.
She replayed the words in her head and knew that she should feel moved. But what did she feel? Only sadness for that fallen rider whose approaching death she’d never seen before.
She was crying.
God, she missed Ray.
53
The following weekend
Jamie went to Bristol to stay with Geoff and Andrew. Something else he was able to do now he was single again. He and Geoff had seen each other pretty much every month since college. Then Jamie made the mistake of bringing Tony along.
God, the last visit would be burnt into his memory forever. Andrew talking about imaginary numbers and Tony assuming it was some kind of intellectual one-upmanship. Despite Andrew being an actual maths lecturer. Tony getting his own back with the KY toothpaste story and some rather theatrical belching. So that Jamie had to send flowers and a long letter when they got back to London.
Geoff had put on a bit of weight since their last meeting, and he’d gone back to wearing glasses. He looked like the wise owl in a children’s story. He had a new job, too, doing the finances for a software firm that did something utterly incomprehensible. He and Andrew had moved into a rather grand house in Clifton and adopted a Highland terrier called Jock who clambered into Jamie’s lap as they sat in the garden drinking tea and smoking cigarettes.
Then Andrew arrived, and Jamie was shocked. The age difference had never seemed relevant. Andrew had always been the leaner, fitter man. But he looked old now. It wasn’t just the stick. You could break an ankle at eighteen. It was the way he moved. As if he expected to fall.
He shook Jamie’s hand. “Sorry I’m late. Got held up in some stupid committee. You’re looking well.”
“Thank you,” said Jamie, wanting to return the compliment but not being able to.
Jamie and Geoff cycled to a postcard pub in the country while Andrew and Jock took the car.
It seemed sad, at first, the way Geoff’s life was being narrowed by Andrew’s illness. But Geoff seemed as devoted as he’d ever been, and eager to do anything to help Andrew. And this made Jamie sad in a different way.
He simply didn’t understand. Because he could suddenly see Tony’s point. Andrew was a generous man. But he didn’t do small talk and he didn’t ask questions. When the conversation moved out of his sphere he switched off and waited for it to move back.
Andrew retired to bed early and Jamie and Geoff sat in the garden finishing off a bottle of wine.
Jamie talked about Katie and Ray and tried to explain why the relationship made him uneasy. The way Ray cramped her style. The gulf between them. And only when he was doing this did he realize how much of what he was saying applied to Geoff and Andrew. He tried to change the subject.
Geoff could read him like a book. Perhaps every conversation came round to this subject eventually. “Andrew and I have a very nice life together. We love one another. We look after one another. We don’t have as much sex as we once did. To be honest, we don’t really have sex at all. But, without putting too fine a point on it, there are ways of dealing with that.”
“Does Andrew know?”
Geoff didn’t answer the question. “I’ll be there for him. Always. Until the end. That’s the thing he knows.”
An hour later Jamie lay on the pull-out bed, looking at the roll of carpet and the defunct skiing machine and the cello case and felt that rootless ache he always felt in business hotels and spare rooms, the smallness of your life when you took the props away.
It disturbed him, Geoff and Andrew. And he wasn’t sure why. Was it Geoff having sex with other men and Andrew knowing and not knowing? Was it the thought of Geoff watching his lover growing old? Was it because Jamie wanted the unconditional love they had? Or because that unconditional love seemed so unattractive?
The following week he spent three days running the interviews for the new secretary and sorting out all the attendant paperwork. He went to Johnny’s leaving do. He saw
A Beautiful Mind
with Charlie. He went swimming for the first time in two months. He ate a takeaway Chinese in the bath with
The Dark Side of the Moon
cranked up to nine downstairs. He read
The Farewell Symphony
and the fact that he finished it in three days almost made up for how fantastically depressing it was.
He needed someone.
Not for sex. Not yet. That came a couple of weeks later, in his experience. You started finding ugly guys attractive. Then you started finding straight guys attractive. Then you had to do something about it pretty quickly because by the time you started thinking you’d settle for sex with one of your female friends you were heading for a whole barrel-load of trouble.
He needed…The word
companion
always made him think of elderly playwrights in silk smoking jackets holed up in Italian coastal towns with their handsome secretaries. Like Geoff, but with more glamour.
He wanted…There was that feeling when you held someone, or when someone held you. The way your body relaxed. Like having a dog on your lap.
He needed to be close to someone. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted?
He was getting a bit old for the outdoor stuff and clubs always seemed to him like stag nights, with the hormones flowing in the opposite direction. Men doing what they’d done since they came down from the trees, gathering in herds to get drunk and talk bollocks, anything to avoid the nightmares of being serious or having nothing to do.
Besides, Jamie’s track record was not good. Simon the Catholic priest. Garry and his Nazi memorabilia. Christ, you’d think people would either confess these things up front or avoid mentioning them at all, instead of announcing them over breakfast.
Halfway round Tesco he put a tin of sweetened condensed milk into his basket but came to his senses at the checkout and quietly slid it to the side of the conveyor belt when no one was watching.
Back at home he was lying on the sofa toggling idly between
Antiques Roadshow
and something about the Great Wall of China when he realized that he could ring Ryan.
He went to get his address book.