Sex and Other Changes (38 page)

‘Did Dad ever know you'd slept with Ferenc?'

‘I'm sure he didn't.'

‘Then the possibility of my being Ferenc's simply wouldn't have occurred to him, because the impossible can't happen.'

Alan thought that very perceptive of Gray. He wondered if he had been underestimating him.

‘But he'll see it now,' he said.

‘He may not, Mum. Not if it's still an impossibility.'

‘But won't he see the resemblance?'

‘Who knows? We can never be exactly sure that what other people see is the same as what we see. I mean it's still me, and she may just see me as he's so used to seeing me. I mean she was never exactly observant, was he?'

Alan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Gray sounded so level-headed about it, so analytical.

‘How can you be so analytical about it?' he asked. ‘Doesn't it
… I don't know … devastate you? I'd have been devastated if I'd found out something like that about my father.'

‘It was a terrible shock last night, Mum. My blood ran icy. Luckily it was such a shock that it struck me dumb. I've hardly slept. But I'm used to being on my own and thinking things through on my own, and I've decided … I'm not saying it was easy, Mum, and I'm not saying I'm not disturbed by it … but I mean, in the end, it doesn't really make all that much difference, does it? To me, I mean. It would to Dad. I mean, to Nicola.'

‘You really mean that?'

‘Well, I haven't got much choice, have I? It happened, and a long time ago. No point in resenting you now.'

‘Thank you.'

‘May as well try to be cool about it.'

‘Being cool's fine. Burying traumas isn't.'

‘And I've talked to Juanita.'

‘Talked?'

‘Well emailed, but to my generation that's like talking, we think of it as talking, that's what you don't seem to understand when you think I'm a freak. Juanita's very mature for her age.'

‘How old is she?'

He blushed.

‘Eighteen. Well, almost. She says it makes no great difference, because I'm still exactly the same person as I was yesterday, and a better person because I have one less delusion.'

‘Phew!'

‘Exactly. She's very bright, Mum. Actually …' he looked a little embarrassed,‘… she and I quite like the idea of my being Anglo-Hungarian. One more blow for multi-culturalism. Quite cool, really. And let's face it, Mum, it does help that Dad's a woman. I mean I have sort of lost him as a father already.'

‘Oh, dear – and do you feel you've lost me?'

‘As a mum, obviously, but not as a person. You're still here for me. She isn't. I still love you, Mum, and I'm still yours.'

Alan hugged him. There, in Throdnall, an Englishman hugged his son!

It would have been more extraordinary still if it had been an Englishman who hadn't previously been an Englishwoman.

‘Can we go for a walk?' said Nicola that evening, having returned early from the hotel.

‘Of course.'

There wasn't any need to ask why.

‘Are you sure you're up to it?'

‘Well, I'm supposed to have gentle exercise.'

They went down Orchard View Close and turned right into Badger Glade Rise, retracing the route Alison had taken on the night on which Nick had told her of his intention to change sex.

At the end of Badger Glade Rise they turned left into Spinney View.

At the end of Spinney View stood the Coach, weighed down by hanging baskets. There were only four cars in the car park, and at least two of those would belong to staff.

‘Pub?' said Alan.

‘People will speculate,' said Nicola.

They retraced their steps down Spinney View, continued into Elm Copse Crescent, and went down the ginnel to the back end of the golf course, which was almost deserted as evening took hold.

At last Nicola spoke.

‘Gray's not mine, is he? He's Ferenc's.'

‘Yes.'

‘You worked on me that night, that night you were so very affectionate, that night I've remembered through all this as the most genuine moment of passion between us. It wasn't genuine at all.'

‘No.' Alan's reply was hardly even a whisper, more like a rustle in the undergrowth.

‘It seems absurd to worry, now that I'll be leaving for good in a few days' time, but it hurts, Alan. It hurts a lot.'

‘Yes. I suppose it's absurd to defend myself now that I'm a man about my unfaithfulness as a woman when you were a man but it was the only time, Nicola.'

‘The only time? Just one time and Gray was created. What virility. What sperm. What eggs.'

‘I mean, Ferenc was the only man.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I hated being unfaithful.'

‘You know what I mean. I meant, “Why did you do it?” '

‘Does it matter now?'

‘Yes it … the Fergusons. Smile. Look casual.'

They smiled at the couple drifting in the opposite direction, hand in hand, normal, happy (as far as they knew).

‘Evening.'

‘Evening.'

‘Nice night.'

‘Very.'

‘We're lucky.'

‘We are.'

The Fergusons moved on.

‘Yes, it does matter. I'd like to leave not hating you.'

‘We were young and our marriage wasn't working for reasons we were too ignorant and inexperienced to understand. I was unhappy. I did something I regret. Except.'

‘Except?'

‘I can't really be angry with Ferenc and I can't really regret that it happened because if it hadn't happened Gray wouldn't exist.'

‘That's a very rational view. It leaves the emotional side out altogether.'

‘It
was
twenty years ago. I can rationalise it now. And it's a fact which must perhaps help to define our emotional response. Are you happy that Gray exists?'

‘Well of course I am. That's a very unfair argument.'

‘Happy even though you know you aren't the father?'

‘Well … well, yes, of course I am. I'm not a monster.'

‘Well then. Beside that, does it all matter now? After all these years?'

A skylark began to sing, high above the par three eleventh. They hadn't had skylarks on the golf course for some years. They looked up, trying to see it in the fading light. Nicola slid her hand very briefly into Alan's and straight out again so quickly that Alan was never absolutely sure that he hadn't imagined it.

Juanita arrived two days before Alan was considered fit enough to be left by Nicola.

Gray went to Gatwick to meet her. It was a tense day for them all, but for him most of all. It was the beginning of
his
real life test. ‘I'm terrified,' he admitted and he added, in that way of his that made them wonder if he had inherited any of Ferenc's artistic talent, ‘I'm bloody shitting myself.'

Alan hugged him, and Nicola kissed him.

‘Good luck, darling,' Alan said.

‘Good luck, son,' Nicola exaggerated.

Later that day the text messages began to arrive. ‘Plane landed. Shitting myself.' ‘She's lovely.' ‘On the Gatwick Express. Ha ha. At a standstill. I lied about her being lovely. She isn't. She's gorgeous.' ‘Limping towards Throdnall. She's a queen.' ‘Due Throdnall 19.15 hours. ETA 19.59.'

Juanita was short, barely five foot, her complexion was sallow, and there was an Indian look to her broad, somewhat squashed nose. Her hair and her eyes were dark and Spanish. She was slim and moved with a natural grace that few girls in Throdnall could match. What made her lovely was that her face shone with goodness.

She spoke English well, with a strong accent, and shyly. Gray
was unbelievably considerate. Can this really be my son? thought Alan. Can this really be … the person I wish was my son? thought Nicola.

They went off to ThrodnalPs little Latin American Club to sleep.

‘I thought it would be more tactful,' said Gray. He grinned sheepishly. ‘What? Tactful? Moi?'

‘I'm happy for you to sleep together in my house,' said Alan, ‘just as I am happy for Em and Clare to sleep here.'

Nothing was to be gained by forcing them out.

‘Thank you,' said Gray, ‘but Juanita would be embarrassed.'

Juanita raised her eyebrows in mock astonishment.

‘Oh all right,' admitted Gray. ‘I'd be embarrassed.'

‘I intend to have a word with Ferenc,' said Nicola on the morning of her departure back to Cluffield. ‘I hope you don't mind.'

‘Why should I mind?' said Alan, ‘but I would like to have a word with him first. He helped me betray you many years ago. He has betrayed me this month. That painting is a betrayal of our secret and of our …'

‘And of your what? Love?'

‘Trust.'

Alan did confront Ferenc first. He hadn't seen him alone since she'd left his bed for the last time twenty years ago.

Although there was no desperate need for secrecy, Alan didn't want anyone in Throdnall to see them together. Nor did Ferenc. So they arranged to meet at twelve-thirty on the following Saturday at the Smelters' Arms in Plockwell.

It was a grey morning. Mist brushed the fields and hung around the hedgerows. Some mornings there seem to be rooks everywhere.

Alan was a little nervous, so he got there early. He waited in
the car in the pot-holed, puddled car park. In the sad row of shops opposite there was one called ‘2001 – A Spice Odyssey'. So it was true. The Parkers had opened up again. In the ten minutes during which he watched, nobody went in or out. Their little dream didn't stand a chance.

Then he remembered that he didn't need to wait in the car. He was a man now. He could walk into pubs and not be raped by several pairs of eyes.

He strode in boldly, to the manner born. He ordered himself a pint. His first ever pint in a pub. It felt odd to be standing there, in a dark, cavernous town pub, with a pint of bitter in a straight glass, discussing the rival merits of Aston Villa and Tottenham Hotspur with mine host, in the deepest voice he could manage, while waiting to talk to the man who had fathered his second child.

Ferenc was ten minutes late. Alan began to think he wasn't coming. Maybe his ‘There's something we need to talk about' hadn't been strongly enough expressed. And then there he was, her brief lover of two decades ago.

They sat in a far and obscure corner, and talked in low voices.

‘Why did you do it?' he asked.

‘Do what?' Ferenc seemed genuinely puzzled.

‘Paint Gray like that?'

‘Like what?'

‘Like you, Ferenc.'

‘Like me?'

‘Oh come on. You know he's your son.'

‘What???'

Ferenc's question was like a rifle shot. Several of the shoppers and gamblers who made up the Saturday lunchtime crowd turned to look.

‘S'ssh! People will notice us.'

‘Are you serious? I'm Graham's father?'

‘Yes. I can't believe you didn't know.'

‘I had no idea. Are you sure?'

‘Absolutely.'

‘My God. My God!'

‘Didn't the possibility even occur to you? I mean with the dates …'

‘I had no idea when he was born, Alis … Alan. I stayed here in Plocknell when you moved to Throdnall. Graham must have been nine or ten before I moved to Throdnall too, before I even knew he existed. I had no idea. Oh, Alison … sorry, I just can't call you Alan … this is some shock.'

‘But how could you paint him like that and not see?'

‘I paint a truth, Alison. I paint an essence. I painted mainly from photographs. I've only met the boy once. I see only what I see. I'm objective. There's no subjectivity. There is no context. I met Em and she gave me the idea. She introduced me to Gray. He didn't know why he was meeting me. I studied him and he thought it was just a casual drink. I never saw. I never dreamt … well, because I never dreamt.'

‘Gray said much the same, funnily enough.'

‘Well there you are. And why “funnily enough”? Like father, like son. Does Nicola know?'

‘Yes. It's the past with her. It's over. She's not pleased, of course, but it's no longer important to her.'

‘We should never have done it, of course,' he said. ‘We have a saying in Hungary, “Don't piss in your brother's goulash.” I am so sorry.'

He reached out to clasp Alan's hand, remembered that Alan was a man now, withdrew his hand hurriedly, glanced round the pub furtively, smiled at him uneasily: he was having a very adverbial moment.

‘Alison, nothing can take away the memory of a very happy little episode.'

Alan smiled coquettishly. He couldn't help it.

‘But why,' said Ferenc, ‘do you want to tell me now, since you have known for so long and said nothing?'

‘Vanity.'

‘Vanity?'

‘I couldn't bear to think your painting was spitefully intended. You were the only lover I ever took. I didn't want to think you didn't like me.'

‘Oh, I liked you.'

‘Perhaps I shouldn't have told you.'

He shrugged.

‘I'm glad to know. I won't disturb the applecart. We have a saying in Hungary, “If the clock ticks, don't chop it up for firewood.” Another pint?'

‘Better not. Goodbye, Ferenc.'

It was like putting the very last full stop on his sentence as a woman.

He needed to pee. He went to his first urinal. Sadly, nobody else was in there. He would have liked to have stood there, and flowed there, beside his fellow men.

It wasn't a great, imposing stream, but it was urine, and it was his, and he was standing up. Jane Austen and Tolstoy never once mentioned peeing, but I have to. It was a massive moment in Alan's life. Massive.

‘I think you know why I've called you in here.'

‘Yes.'

Ferenc looked annoyingly composed. Nicola would have so liked to make him uncomfortable.