Young Wives' Tales (28 page)

I dropped her back in Holland Park at 3.15, in time for the pick-up. She told me she’d had a great time and then she scrambled out of the car, desperate to avoid the embarrassment of how to say cheers and bye for now. We’re northerners and although we’ve got used to air-kissing southerners we just can’t be that phony with each other. We’re all or nothing kind of people. A full-on snog or a rush for the door handle. Connie made the call.

So why am I thinking of her? Am I so immature that because a woman says no, I want her more? Probably. I resorted to my usual course of action. Distraction.
But nothing doing there either. Humping Diane was like doing a sack of potatoes. Have I lost my appetite? Fuck, that would be a disaster. For me and womankind.

Since my taste for women is well and truly doused right now I’m spending lots of time with Craig. This is a good thing, as his pathetic attempts with the women make me feel more like the Casanova I know I am. Connie has left me feeling like I have the sex appeal of Homer Simpson.

Despite my own concerns I’ve tried not to let Craig flounder. Besides instructing him in what to wear, what to listen to, where to hang out and giving him the name of a decent barber, I have been by his side – time after time – as he attempts to get his end away. I’ve dragged him out with me nearly every Saturday night. I’ve introduced him to lots of lovely girlies, I’ve sung his praises, I’ve plied everyone with alcohol and then I’ve left him alone with various lasses. Every single time, the same result. No score. It’s astounding. Even when the bird is clearly interested, practically gagging for it, he still manages to pop her in a taxi and then go home alone. Other than force-feeding him Viagra, stripping both him and the interested girlie, then turning the lights out in a hope that he’ll trip up and just accidentally fall on her and spear her, I don’t know what else I can do.

I ask him to come for a beer so we can discuss the problem. He’s an intelligent guy – he must know that there are issues and I bet he’s aware of how to solve them too. I choose a pub with inviting globe lanterns hanging outside. Inside there’s a colourful, warm and
friendly atmosphere; it’s the sort of place people spill the beans.

I start subtle.

‘If you are a bender, mate, it’s all right by me.’

Craig grins at me. ‘That’s nice to know, John, thank you, but I’m straight.’

‘Really.’I take a long drink of my beer. ‘Not getting much though, are you?’I point out.

‘No, I suppose not by your standards. But it’s different for me.’He looks me in the eye as he says this. I see a challenge.

‘How so?’I ask.

‘Well, your end game is sex,’he says flatly.

‘And yours isn’t?’I struggle to keep the incredibility out of my voice.

‘You’ve been married, John, and it’s clear that you are once bitten twice shy. You’re not after any sort of emotional complexity from your relationship but I still require that.’

I stare at Craig and fight the urge to thump him. What the fuck is he bringing Andrea into the conversation for? What does he mean about my not being after any emotional complexity? If he knew about Connie he’d know that currently I’m chasing the embodiment of emotional complexity. Anyway this isn’t about my fuckedupness, it’s about his.

He continues, ‘You are just out of a divorce and it’s clear that you need to prove…well…something to yourself or…or others. God knows who.’He knows he’s on quicksand and his voice cracks with uncertainty.
He rushes to reassure me. ‘Not us, mate. If you are doing all this womanizing stuff to prove a point to Tom and me, then you really don’t have to. We know you are “the man” and all that.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’I ask angrily. I’m grateful we’ve known each other long enough that I’m not required to hide my irritation.

He blanches at my use of expletive. He doesn’t like cussing. ‘I’m just saying if you want to chill out a bit, that’s fine. You don’t have to be sleeping with someone new every week or so, just to…you know.’

No, I don’t know. But saying as much would mean we were having a discussion about my sex life and we’re
not
. We’re having a discussion about his sex life or rather lack of it.

‘We’re not talking about me, mate.’I pick up a beermat and start tapping it on the table.

‘Well, we are a bit. I was just comparing. I’m trying to say to you that while I understand what you’re doing, and why you need to act like you do, I’m just saying I’m coming at it from a different perspective.’

I’m bored of the beermat. I fish a coin out of my pocket and practise threading it through my fingers; a neat little trick I saw in a film.

‘I’ve no idea what you are on about, mate. For the record – and this is all I’ll say on the matter – I’m not acting any differently now than I used to before I got married.’

‘Or indeed while you were married,’says Craig.

Ah ha. So he’s just using the opportunity to take
a pop. Craig has always assumed that I womanized throughout my marriage and that was why it broke down. Most people think the same. I sigh and wonder if it’s worth trying to explain that nothing is ever that black and white. I decide against it. I’ve never talked about my marriage to Andrea to anyone and I see no reason to start now.

‘Mate, we’re talking about you here. Am I to understand that you are looking for someone to marry and that somehow, in your naïve little version of how the world operates, you think you both need to go to your wedding bed as mysteries to one another?’

I largely avoid being sarcastic with Craig; he’s too decent to take the piss out of but he’s wound me up.

‘No, I’m not stupid or that green, I realize that if I meet someone special I will want to…you know…very much.’

‘Shag her.’

‘Yes, make love. I’m just not keen to have sex with anyone I don’t care for.’

‘You could learn to care for them.’Even I do that.

‘Very possibly, but you expect me to shag them just after I’ve shaken hands with them and before I even know their full names. It’s just not my style.’

I could be a bastard and make a quick derisive comment about him not having a style, but instead I take a deep breath and consider what he’s saying. It’s not all stupid. Getting to know a woman before I shag her has never been a prerequisite that I recommend but on the other hand it probably does have some merit, especially
for someone like Craig. In retrospect I see that shagging Diane was a complete waste of time. I’ve had worse, but nothing quite so meaningless.

Craig looks nervous; he doesn’t want to offend me and he’s one of the few people in this world who realizes I can take offence. ‘It’s not that I’m not grateful for your efforts, mate. I am,’he insists. ‘You know that girl you got chatting to last Saturday on my behalf?’

‘I can’t remember her.’

‘Josie.’

‘Did she have a mole, just there?’I point to my top lip.

‘Yes, that’s her. Well, I met up with her. We had a drink.’

‘Good on you, mate. Those moles can be really sexy.’

Craig stares at me as though I’m missing the point and continues, ‘I also had lunch with that student slash barmaid that we chatted to in the Hind a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Really?’

‘Do you remember her?’

‘No, but I bet she was a honey.’I’m proud of him. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t told me this before. You dark horse.’I playfully punch Craig on the arm. That’s my man. That’s really cheered me up. Given me a sense of purpose. I was beginning to think I was wasting my time with Craig and the thought was quite a shocker. I waste enough time.

‘She was lovely. A bit too hung up on her ex-boyfriend and a tad too young for me to want to take
her on another date but it was a very pleasant lunch,’says Craig.

‘That’s the spirit – nothing ventured, nothing gained.’Although I would have shagged her. Women on the rebound are easy targets and he needs the practice. ‘I hope you went Dutch, mate.’

‘No, I paid.’

‘But you said you didn’t want to see her again.’

‘I also said it was a lovely lunch.’

Sucker.

I am without voice. Peter, Auriol, Sebastian and Henry overrule me. I never thought I’d see the day when a man and a bunch of kids became more vocal, vibrant and vital than me. We are going to Center Parcs.

I’ve always been grateful that I was born a woman. A beautiful, brilliant, wealthy woman living in the western world has very little to complain about. I had my complex, interesting friends to talk to, handsome men to fawn over me and, for long train journeys – I had my own, quite sensational, thoughts to entertain me. I had it all, and having to wear shoes that cut and mangle my feet seemed a small price to pay for the privileges and excitement of being a woman. I’ve always rather pitied men because they are so simplistic. Their phone conversations are over in thirty seconds flat and they buy underwear in three-packs for five pounds. But suddenly I am living in a world where they have the upper hand. Now I see that there are lots of advantages to being male. Clearly, the less work more pay issue is an advantage for them, as is the fact that they never have to
suffer the indignity of asking for help to open a jam jar, but that’s just scratching the surface.

It appears that a holiday for five requires planning with military precision, and in fact I could do with an army to help me. Eva started her holiday on Thursday and it transpires that Friday is washing day so when I start to pack, on Saturday morning, I discover that very few of Auriol’s clothes are clean and none of them are ironed. I resort to pulling ill-fitting (or worse – ugly) clothes out from the depths of the closet and I retrieve items from the laundry basket, sniff them and spray on perfume in a desperate attempt to freshen them up. I cobble together enough outfits for the week; providing Auriol makes an effort to stay mud-and paint-free, we’ll manage. Despite my extensive wardrobe I discover that I own very little that one would describe as casual and therefore appropriate. Still, I can’t regret my lack of nylon. Eventually, I find a couple of pairs of Diesel jeans and dig out my Roxy hoodies that I wear when skiing. It hardly matters anyway; Peter rarely notices what I’m wearing these days and I’ll keep away from mirrors.

While I whiz around the house frantically trying to find clean and suitable clothes for us all, Peter chooses to stroll to the newsagent and buy a paper. He then sits in the drawing room and reads it. Rose arrives at 10 a.m. on the dot with both the boys in tow. She hands over two carefully packed children’s suitcases.

‘I’ve included a change of clothes for each day. I’m probably being excessive but it’s bound to be very
muddy at this time of year and the boys will get into a mess, no doubt Auriol’s the same.’Oh, bugger. ‘Besides, it’s better to have too many than too few. I’ve packed swimwear, goggles and towels. They probably provide towels but Henry is allergic to some washing powders so I’ve packed sheets for him too.’I take the two cases off her as the boys speed past me without so much as saying hi. ‘And here are their sleeping bags in case Peter wants to sleep under the stars. He used to enjoy camping. This bag is full of games, pens, paper, favourite toys, etc.’I take the sleeping bags and the huge rucksack off her and wonder how it will all fit into the car. Like Paul Daniels she produces another bag from nowhere. ‘This bag contains their spare pairs of trainers, Wellington boots, pool shoes and walking boots. I think that should cover it.’

Rose calls to the boys and they reappear instantly. I know I have to call them five times, minimum, before they so much as grunt a response. They fling their arms around her and bestow dozens of kisses. She doles out instructions that they have to be good for their daddy (no mention of being good for me). They assure her they will be and then she turns to leave. ‘I didn’t pack any car snacks because I was sure you would have that under control,’she says.

Damn. Car snacks. Friday must be grocery shopping day, as well as laundry day, because the cupboards and the fridge are empty. I send Peter back to the newsagents to buy some snacks; he grumbles and asks why I couldn’t have noticed that we were without resources
earlier on when he went for the paper. I don’t say that food supplies had failed to cross my mind until Rose mentioned them. I don’t do food; that’s why capsule vitamins and restaurants were invented. I resist pointing out that as far as I am aware there is no law against him independently thinking of buying car snacks. He returns with pockets full of sweets, crisps and chocolate; the children will be bouncing off the roof by the time we arrive. Surely he could have bought the odd packet of raisins or an apple.

I can’t fault the resort for being anything other than exactly what it claims it will be. Center Parcs is perfect for people with children and therefore attracts lots of people with children. It’s hellish. Auriol and the boys are in the upper quartile of good behaviour, which is a relief and a horror at once. Wherever I go I can smell nappy sacks, a hideous, synthetic flowery scent that fails to mask the odious stench of child waste, and I hear screaming and crying, as spiteful, unruly children abuse their parents or siblings. I bump into women who have nothing in their lives other than their abusive children and therefore enthuse about the availability of salsa lessons and nature walks. It is so depressing. There is a spa but I discover that all the therapists are fully booked for the entire week. Every single appointment has been snapped up by the mothers who don’t work and have no issues with making personal calls between 8 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. No amount of cash in a brown envelope can convince the receptionist to ‘find’me a space for
a treatment. Without the spa I am devoid of escape routes.

I’d read, but this would mean I’d have to spend time in the chalet. I think I may have a diagnosable allergy towards Aztec designs, certainly when there are several different ones (sofa, cushions and walls) in a small confined area; I can feel a migraine coming on. I am suspicious of every eatery in the resort, as the marketing literature describes them as ‘elegant’and ‘sophisticated’; yet the guest is assured that high chairs and handbag clips are available. I know there will be an eat-as-much-as-you-like salad bar.