Sleight of Hand (43 page)

I park the car up on Brighton seafront and we walk side by side towards the town centre.

“What an amazing day,” Jenny says.

“It is,” I agree, looking out at the horizon. It's proof of my preoccupied mood that I'm only now noticing today's spring-like weather. “We've been pretty lucky this winter,” I say. “We've had quite a lot of sun.”

“You're right,” she replies. “We have.”

We get to the Lanes a little early, so we head to Café Nero for coffee.

“Cute dads,” Jenny says once we are seated, and I glance over to see a sporty, trendy, bearded dad carrying a toddler Sarah's age.

“You only get dads like that in Brighton,” I say.

“Yeah,” Jenny agrees. “I know. Maybe I should have moved here. I might have caught one for myself.”

And I sit and think about that. Because of course all of our lives would have been different in innumerable ways if we had just decided to live
somewhere else. An infinite number of different lives are spread out around us, but until we choose one, until we move and find out who we end up meeting because of where we live they're all unknowable. Other than the fact that you're far more likely to meet a sporty, bearded ad exec in Brighton than in Huddersfield, it really is a lucky dip.

And then I note the past tense of Jenny's phrase, and say, “You still
can
you know.”

It's been so long since she made the comment, she says, “I'm sorry?”

“You say you
should have
moved here. You still can.”

“Oh yeah,” she says vaguely. “Of course.”

Five minutes before our appointment we head over to Statton and Houghton's swanky offices in Prince Albert Street.

A fairly attractive woman who I think is trying to look like an old-school lesbian-librarian shows us through to the waiting room but no sooner have we sat down than a voice booms out and we both turn to see a vision of elegance grinning at us from the doorway.

Peter Statton, it transpires, is an extremely good looking man. He is in his late thirties, is tall and dark with a pleasant tan – no doubt from a recent winter break. He is also the most incredible dandy and is wearing a stunning checkered suit and has the biggest knot in the pinkest tie I have ever seen.

“Please, take a seat,” he says, fixing his cuffs and slithering behind his desk.

I sit and listen as Jenny explains the situation in a controlled, business-like manner, and I wonder how it must feel to be Peter Statton. I wonder how it must feel to have been born that good looking, that
well bred, to be that self confident. I wonder how it would feel to wear that suit, and, somewhat inappropriately I wonder how it would feel to kiss those lips.

The guardianship will turns out to be fairly straightforward. It has to record Jenny's wishes regarding the future of her daughter and must be witnessed by two independent witnesses. Because Nick is alive and could reasonably contest the will, it also needs to state as many reasons as possible that she wants it to be me, and as many reasons as possible that it shouldn't be him.

Once we have listed these, Stratton stands and smooths his tie, continuing the movement of his hand until it strokes his crotch. And then he shakes hands with us and ushers us from his office.

Whilst we wait for the paperwork to be printed I have to place my coat over my lap to hide a rather absurd hard-on. It's the strangest thing that this should be happening here today because the context of the visit has made me so tense that my neck muscles are actually hurting.

Once the will is printed and signed in triplicate and we have paid the outrageous two-hundred pound fee, Jenny and I step outside.

“Can we go and have lunch somewhere?” Jenny asks. “I could do with some time to decompress.”

We wander down to the seafront and after take window-seats in Alfresco.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

Jenny nods. “Yeah,” she says, smoothing one hand over the envelope. “I'm just trying to convince myself that the words in here don't change anything.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well it's sort of in writing now, isn't it. It almost seems like it's inevitable.”

I sigh. “I know what you mean,” I say, “but you mustn't think like that.”

We sit and stare at the view until the waitress takes our orders. Once she has left, I say, to fill the void as much as anything, “Two-hundred quid though!”

“I know,” Jenny says. “Still, he knew his stuff. It's reassuring to know that it's worded just right.”

“I suppose.”

“And they do store a copy forever included in the fee.”

“Sure. Though I think his prices have more to do with his taste in suits than storage costs.”

Jenny nods and sighs. And then her expression changes. “Is it just me, or did he … you know …
ooze
sex?”

I slip into a smile, my first today. “No. He's a stunner.”

“I kept looking at his lips,” Jenny says.

“Yep. Me too. So kissable.”

“I know! And did you see how … No. Never mind.”

“What?”

“No, I'm just being pervy,” she says. “I haven't had a shag for too long … I expect that's it.”

“I saw him give his packet a good stroke before he shook hands at the end,” I laugh.

Jenny's face lights up. She slips into a broad grin. “I know!” she says. “I saw that too. The dirdy birdy.”

“I got a bit hard actually,” I say. “That's why I was sitting with my coat on my lap.”

“I think I got a bit wet,” Jenny whispers.

I pull a face. “Jenny!”

She rolls her eyes. “Honestly,” she says. “You gay guys. Any mention of …”

“Please don't,” I say, raising one hand. “I've ordered mussels.”

Jenny's mouth drops in amused outrage. “That's
so
rude,” she says. “You have no idea.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No,” I say. “I do have an idea. I remember.”

I smile at her. A bit of humour and a change of context and she suddenly looks almost normal.

I watch her fiddle with the edge of her wig as she laughs. You could almost forget that she has cancer. Almost.

When we get back to the house, Jenny takes Sarah upstairs for a sleep and Ricardo beckons me into the kitchen. He grabs my waist and kisses me. “How did it go babe? I think about you all morning.”

“It was fine. It's all done.”

“So not so complicated then?”

I shrug. “It's all about using the exact right words. So that it can't be challenged in court.”

“But who could challenge?”

“Nick.”

“Ah yes.”

“And if he does, social services would have to get involved and decide. But the truth is that if Jenny did die Nick probably wouldn't even find out.”

Ricardo kisses me again, then separates. “Good. One thing done. Now, Florent phone me.”

“Florent?”

“He wants to come down again for the weekend.”

I grimace. “I don't think there's room do you?”

“The sofa?” Ricardo suggests.

“Yeah, but what's the point?”

Ricardo shrugs. “We could go away,” he says with a wink.

“I don't think we can afford it. That weekend in Nice cost hundreds in the end.”

Ricardo nods and sighs. “Yes. The money is not so good huh? I looked this morning and until the flat sells …”

“I'm looking for translation work babe. Honestly. I look every day. But there hasn't been anything worth doing.”

“I know. I think maybe I should look for work too.”

“Can you? Here? I mean, as a doctor?”

Ricardo shrugs. “I don't know,” he says. “I need to look it up. Can you help me look on the internet? I don't know who … you know … controls doctors here.”

“Sure.”

“So what about Florent?” Ricardo asks. “I tell him ‘no?'”

At that instant Jenny bursts into the kitchen and Ricardo and I separate. “Don't mind me,” she says. “I just forgot to take my pill.”

We stand and watch her fill a glass and swallow the capsule. “And tell who ‘no?'” she asks. “What are you two plotting?”

“Nothing,” I say.

Jenny shrugs and crosses to the door then pauses. “Oh, by the way,” she says. “Florent left me a message. He's coming down at the weekend so if you two want to fuck off somewhere exotic again.”

I raise an eyebrow at Ricardo. Jenny sees this and looks at me inquisitively.

“Actually we were just saying that money's a bit tight,” I say. “So maybe not the best time for galavanting off to exotic destinations.”

“Yeah,” Jenny says. “I need to get Mum's place on the market. Sorry about that.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“But I still do. I can't face going up there to be honest.”

“No. I'm sure.”

“That's something you could do, if you fancied a little trip,” she says. “Go and work out what needs doing. Take some nice photos. Get some estate agents' phone numbers for me. Maybe see Susan and check she's still OK about us staying here … Anyway, something to think about. See you later.”

Once she has returned upstairs Ricardo looks at me and shrugs. “What do you think?”

“It's a bit boring up there,” I say. “But, well, you've never seen Surrey. And I suppose we could take in Hampton Court or something?”

“Hampton Court?”

“It's a big stately home. A palace actually.”

Ricardo nips to the lounge and returns with the laptop.

“Show me,” he says.

I google Hampton Court Palace and the instant the first image appears on the screen Ricardo says, “Oh
yes
babe. I want.”

*

Though we do drive up to Surrey on Friday evening, we never do get to Hampton Court Palace, and though this is through no fault of our own, we don't get to see Susan either.

In fact other than hoovering up the layer of dust and listing furniture for a future house clearance we don't do anything much that was on our list.

What we
do
do is fuck. Having an entire two-storey house to ourselves with absent neighbours feels like being in an adventure park. So we fuck on the sofa and we fuck on the dining table. We snog in the kitchen and fuck again in the shower. We order pizzas and sleep in Jenny's old room and then in the morning we make love all over again.

On Sunday afternoon I'm packing when Ricardo comes into the bedroom and says, “You know, we haven't use the other bedroom yet.”

I pull a face. “It's her Mum's room,” I say. “I don't really fancy it to be honest.”

Ricardo nods. “Shame,” he says, brandishing a condom at me. “We only have one left.”

I stare at it and grin. “There's a shed in the garden,” I say coyly.

We both glance out at the frosty garden and say, simultaneously, “Too cold.”

“Toilet room?” Ricardo says.

“Too small babe. But we haven't tried it on the stairs before.”

Ricardo grins lopsidedly. He looks dirty. “Stairs could be good,” he says. And though they represent a significant technical challenge in terms of fucking they do turn out to be particularly good for oral sex.

By the time we get back on Sunday I'm feeling incredibly relaxed – something to do with simply spending a few days in a different set of rooms. And of course, something to do with finally feeling sexually sated.

Ricardo drops our weekend bag in the hall and I jingle the car keys at Jenny. “Where's Wonder Boy? I think I need to take him straight away don't I?”

“He's already gone,” Jenny says. “They phoned and changed his shifts so he had to go back at lunchtime. He managed to get a train from that tiny station down the way.”

“I didn't even know you could,” I say.

“Well no. There are only a few trains a day, but it worked out fine.”

“You look well,” I say, noticing an unusual flush to her cheeks.

“So do you,” she says. “How was the house?”

“Fine. Dusty. We cleaned it.”

“And Susan? Did you get to see her?”

“Away I'm afraid.”

“At her sister's I expect,” Jenny says. “So what else did you get up to?”

I glance at Ricardo who is sipping a glass of water and restrain a smirk. “Nothing much to be honest. We just slobbed around.”

Jenny looks from one to the other and nods knowingly. “I can imagine,” she says. “Did you take photos?”

Ricardo splutters and spits out a mouthful of water. “Photos?” he asks.

“Shit!” I mutter. “We forgot to take the photos.” I look at Ricardo's expression and then laugh. “Of the
house
, silly.”

“Ah!” he says. “We can always go back huh? I quite like Surrey.”

I roll my eyes. “We listed all the furniture,” I tell Jenny. “So you can decide what to keep and what to clear.”

“Well, that's something.”

“And you need a hall carpet.”

“God yeah. I had forgotten.”

“And what about you? What did you get up to?”

Jenny shakes her head. “Not much to be honest.”

“You look funny,” I say. “Did you have an argument with Florent or something?”

“No,” she says, glancing at Sarah. “I'll, um, tell you about it later.”

At nine Jenny takes Sarah upstairs to bed and Ricardo asks, “Did something happen with Florent? I didn't understand.”

“I don't know,” I say. “I thought maybe they argued, but she seems OK about it if they did.”

As so often, Jenny falls asleep with Sarah, and so we are left wondering. And the next morning something else happens and the question of what happened with Florent is pushed from my mind entirely.

I'm alone in the house when the post arrives. This is actually quite unusual. In fact, I think that it is probably the first time that Ricardo, Sarah and Jenny have gone out and left me indoors.