Windows 96, page 17
He went to take a swig of his drink and found it empty. He seemed to like the idea of holding a champagne flute, but they just couldn’t hold enough liquid.
‘Vodka and Coke when you’ve got a sec please, mate,’ he said to the barman.
‘Can you make that two?’
‘The thing is, Harold doesn’t want to lose me as a salesman, and,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘he gets pressure from the others. They don’t like it, jealous I expect.’
‘You might be right, you know what they say?’ I said. ‘It’s tough at the top.’
Fox snapped his fingers and pointed. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head there. You know Alex, you and me, we understand each other.’
The music stopped, and the DJ asked for Harold to come up to the front. The lights dimmed, and a giant cake was brought out. The murmurs of Happy Birthday began until everyone was singing, except Harold’s wife. She stood dutifully beside him but was more interested in her fingernails. He blew out his small fire of candles to cheers and applause, and after a short speech, he disappeared.
Harold’s party was coming to an end. People departed with hugs and air kisses until there was only the Baston Window Company sales team left. In an attempt to get rid of us, the staff opened doors leading to an outside seating area. Bottles were sneaked from the bar and the party moved outside.
Harold hadn’t been seen or heard since another argument in the corridor with Gloria. There was talk of calling taxis and heading into town, when he rolled up in a golf buggy with a woman who wasn’t his wife beside him.
‘Come on, you lot,’ he said, and rode off onto the golf course.
We trundled after him, a herd of excited zombies, jumping in sandpits and kicking stray golf balls.
‘Where are we going?’ I said, catching up with Kevin.
‘Dunno.’
‘Harold’s house, I expect.’ James rubbed his hands together the way Fox did.
‘You been before?’
‘Nope.’
The buggy stopped at the edge of the green. Harold and the woman climbed out and disappeared through a gap in the hedgerow. One by one we squeezed in behind them and emerged onto a dark country lane.
A sweeping gravel driveway led to the house, a converted barn on the outside, and a chintzy haven of draped curtains and plush cushions on the inside. We trampled across an expanse of pale green carpet to a bare brick bar built into the corner. Harold claimed a stool and settled in front of it.
‘I’ll have a gin and tonic and whatever this lovely lady wants,’ he said. ‘And somebody put some music on.’
Kevin and Chris played barmen, and began taking orders, pouring double measures from a long row of optics. James headed to a cabinet packed with vinyl, CDs, and tapes, all in alphabetical order.
‘Once you get past the shit he’s got some classics here,’ he said, riffling through the albums.
Marvin Gaye cruised out of Bang and Olufsen speakers mounted around the room. Harold sang from his stool with a contented grin, arm around the waist of the woman. Fox split his attention between singing along with him and the reps, and making the girls laugh. The tunes were old, the room glowing in lamplight instead of a flickering strobe, but it was starting to feel like one of Will’s house parties.
‘Kevin, will you stop asking if I’m all right? I might be another year older but nothing’s changed since yesterday. I’m fit as a fiddle.’
‘Sorry, I was just checking.’
‘Can I make a cocktail, Harold?’ Chris said.
‘Make whatever you like but I’m sticking to this.’ The woman giggled as Harold’s hand slipped up her back.
She looked familiar. There were a few people in the Baston offices I didn’t see much of, but I didn’t know her face from there. As Harold discreetly groped her, she swayed in an out-of-rhythm dance, and I remembered the tattoo in all its amateur glory. I was suddenly uncomfortable, having seen her practically naked, and this time there were girls around. Kelly and Sonia from reception, Leanne, and Melissa. Surely, she wasn’t going to strip in front of them?
Chris produced a glass full to the top with murky-looking contents.
‘This is the game. Whoever goes first has got to take a sip and guess the ingredients. If you guess wrong you’ve got to down it in one.’
‘I think I’ll sit this one out,’ Peter said.
‘Me too.’
‘Give it here, I’ll have a go.’ Kelly stepped forward and took a dainty sip.
‘Orange juice.’
‘Correct.’
‘Vodka.’
‘Correct.’
‘Rum.’
‘Wrong, down it in one.’
She drained the glass to cheers.
‘I’ll go next,’ Fox said, with a sudden interest in the game.
He guessed the contents but downed it anyway. Sonia volunteered next, and not wanting to be outdone by women, everyone was in.
My threshold for alcohol consumption had increased but I had no intentions of crossing it. Each drink they produced looked like mud. After one go I’d had enough. The woman from the Royal Oak didn’t appear to want to play either and grabbed Harold’s hand.
‘I’ll be back in a while,’ he said, loosening his tie. ‘Don’t break anything.’ He disappeared with her and left us to it.
‘Let’s hope Gloria doesn’t change her mind and decide to come home,’ someone said.
Everyone was occupied. I slipped away from the bar and wandered around, looking at Harold’s stuff. A huge framed photo, deliberately out of focus, dominated a wall in the hallway. Harold was slimmer with more hair, his arm resting on his wife’s shoulder. There were pictures of holidays and parties, his life with Gloria everywhere. The perfect ageing couple to anyone who hadn’t witnessed them argue and didn’t know about Harold’s double life.
Deceit seemed to be compulsory for anyone who worked at Baston Windows, or maybe it was more than that, maybe it was a condition of being an adult. Even my mother was at it, cooking dinner and watching soaps one minute, the next, flirting with men young enough to be her son, and in front of her son.
My tour took me away from the noise to an empty room, half study, half sitting room. Light from the hallway shone on trophies lined up on a shelf, for golf and other sports. It made me wonder what would be on my shelves at Harold’s age. I was average at most sports and never won anything.
I got to thinking, I wouldn’t mind a place like Harold’s one day, but with better décor and not at the expense of being like him or the reps. The most decent man I knew was my Uncle Jack, but according to my dad, he didn’t have a pot to piss in. There was a fair chance I could end up like either one of them although I’d settle for Harold over turning into my father, or a nice guy with nothing.
On my way out, I kicked a box beside the shelf. Baston Windows was printed on the spine of a folder inside, next to it more company names, Diamond Glazing, Ashfield Conservatories. I wasn’t one for rummaging through someone’s private stuff but couldn’t help leaning in for a closer look. I reached for a folder. Diamond Glazing sounded familiar.
‘You’re in here.’
I straightened up. Melissa leaned on the door frame, holding a glass of the sludge-coloured drink.
‘What’s up?’ I expected to be summoned back out to join another drinking game, but she pulled the door almost closed and slid past, brushing my shoulder.
‘I’ve been looking for you.’ She took her boots off and half-sprawled at one end of the sofa. ‘Are you going to sit down?’
We’d never had more than a passing conversation and I wasn’t sure what to make of this friendliness.
‘Want some?’ she said, holding out her drink. ‘It’s nicer than it looks.’
I hovered for a moment before taking the glass and sitting at the other end of the sofa. As I took a gulp she inched closer and before I knew what was going on, she was leaning in and kissing me. There was the faint smell of biscuits beneath the perfume, and her mouth tasted of coconut rum.
Harold’s box files left my mind as her hand slid lower towards my belt and I thought of the woman in the bikini. On the poster, her face was hidden, you only got to see her body. I’d sometimes tried to imagine Brigitte’s face attached, but she didn’t match somehow, the body was too fake, and Brigitte was real. I thought about the trickle of water running down her milky skin, her silver dress against the blue lights of the Flour Mill. I pictured the cascade of hair over her shoulder, sliding between my fingers in the Royal Oak toilets, dark eyelashes against her cheek when she almost fell asleep in the garage.
‘What’s wrong?’
The drink was still in my hand, the other was on the arm of the sofa. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. I was single, Melissa was all-right-looking and nice enough as it turned out, but it was obvious I wasn’t into it the way I should’ve been.
‘Nothing,’ I said pulling away. ‘I’m just not sure we should do this.’
‘Why not?’ There was a wary note in her voice and she didn’t seem so friendly anymore.
I downed the rest of the drink and put in on the floor. I ran a hand through my hair feeling as though I’d narrowly avoided a mistake.
‘It’s not you, I mean, you’re gorgeous.’ It was the first thing I could think of to say to keep her confidence intact.
‘What’s the problem then?’
‘If we went any further it could ruin a friendship and I can’t do that. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t if things were different.’
She was quiet. In the crack of light from the door I could see her watching me.
‘Who will it upset?’
‘The thing is, someone else likes you and even if you don’t feel the same, I still couldn’t do it to them.’
‘Who likes me?’
Fox was the obvious choice; James was the next. I only had to mention him and the whole thing would take off on its own but neither of them needed any help in that department.
‘Kevin,’ I said.
‘Kevin, are you serious?’ Once she was over the surprise she slid over to me and slipped her hand around my waist. ‘I’m not interested in Kevin.’
James might have been the better option. I gently pulled her hand away and turned on the lamp. She flinched against the light.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
I adjusted my belt and walked over to the window, opened it and lit a cigarette.
‘He talks about you all the time. I shouldn’t even be saying anything, and I definitely shouldn’t be in here with you.’
‘I thought for a minute you were talking about Brigitte.’
My pulse sped up at the mention of her name. I took a long drag.
‘Why would I be talking about her?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
It was all that mattered. I shrugged.
‘You’re friends with her, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose.’
‘You’ll understand then,’ I said, ‘about me not wanting to upset Kevin.’
‘I suppose so, but I’m not interested in him, so I don’t see why it’s a problem. Don’t you like me?’
‘Of course I do, what’s not to like? But he’s a mate, like Brigitte’s yours. If she liked me then you wouldn’t be here, would you? You’d just feel bad like I do now.’ She didn’t answer. If I pushed any more I would give myself away. ‘Kevin is a really good guy. You could do a lot worse.’
‘I’m not saying he isn’t but Kevin, really? I just never looked at him that way.’
‘It’s a shame. He says really nice things about you.’
‘Like what?’
‘I thought you said you weren’t interested?’
She laughed.
‘Too many things to remember. To be honest he never shuts up about you.’
I had a feeling Kevin wouldn’t mind. She was smiling as well as frowning, thinking it over. I flicked the end of my cigarette into Harold’s garden and faced her.
‘I work with him all day, stayed over at his last night. If he knew about any of this, it would crush him. He’d probably never speak to me again.’
‘He likes me that much?’
‘That much.’
She looked almost pleased, then sighed.
‘I won’t mention this if you won’t then,’ she said, pulling her boots back on.
‘I won’t tell a soul. I really don’t want it getting back to him, even if you’re not interested, he’ll be devastated.’ I was almost believing my own lies. ‘Just out of interest, why did you think I was talking about Brigitte?’
Melissa wasn’t there the night at the Royal Oak and I was careful never to mention her name, as far as I knew, that was. The night at the Cinder Room was still a hazy gap in my memory.
‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘Did she say something?’
‘No, she doesn’t say much at work. It was on her scribble pad. I didn’t see all of it, but it was a drawing. It looked like you.’
The door flew open. Fox burst in, mumbling something into Kelly’s neck. She was giggling and had hold of the end of his tie. It could just as easily have been James standing there.
‘Shit,’ Fox said.
Kelly pulled herself free, pushing messy blonde hair out of her eyes.
‘Hi,’ Melissa said, the single word loaded with all sorts of things.
Kelly’s face fell. I was still smiling, thinking about Brigitte.
‘You found us,’ I said. ‘Are you coming in then?’
I discreetly winked at Melissa. I don’t think I had ever done that to a girl before but liked how she smiled back.
‘We’re playing sardines, aren’t we? Like hide and seek but everybody ends up in the same place. I was here for ages until Mel came in just now.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Fox said.
I was proud of my quick thinking. The four of us stood there, Kelly looking dishevelled, her lipstick smudged onto Fox’s neck.
‘I bet they’re all too pissed to remember we’re playing,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and find out.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Melissa said. ‘It’s a boring game anyway.’
‘Right, we’ll be back out in a bit.’
We left, the door clicking shut behind us.
‘Can you believe that?’ Melissa said. ‘Fox lives with his girlfriend, and Kelly’s married.’
It was news to me on both accounts, but I believed it.
21
Sunday
Kevin pursued Melissa the way he did a lead, trying to wear her down. I hadn’t seen James for a while, or Sonia for that matter. Fox and Kelly hadn’t come out of the study and Harold was still upstairs with his stripper. The rest lounged around, the conversation weak, the chintzy lamps dim against the lightening sky outside.
I sparked up my last cigarette and watched the sun come up from a chair in Harold’s back garden, listening to the birds screeching, thinking about what Jim had said at the golf club.
The way I liked Brigitte wasn’t how it was with other girls at school or college. This felt important, serious, as though every girl before her was nothing more than practice. Not only was she taking over my conscious thoughts and appearing in my dreams, she was also putting a stop to every sexual encounter I could have enjoyed since I laid eyes on her. Boyfriend or not, all that was left was to do everything it took or forget she existed.
It was time to go home while sleep was still a conscious decision. I walked down the lane, jittery with fatigue but acutely awake against the bite in the air. The fields shone golden in the early sun and the sky was an expanse of pastel swirls, the colour of those tiny seashells you find on the beach.
I had miles to walk but I didn’t mind. The main roads were empty of traffic, side streets still and deserted. I cut though parks and residential estates, glancing up at windows and guttering. During my summer of painting jobs, I couldn’t pass a sun-bleached fence without estimating how many tins of creosote two coats would take and how much I could charge.
Like a mirage I saw it, half on the pavement, parked outside a potential full house. I had my sights set on a VW Golf even before I passed my test, but the only one within my price range had stupidly high mileage. Dad talked me out of it.
The for sale sign was the back of a cereal packet taped to the window, and it was within my budget. The cash in my tin had piled up since I hadn’t got around to banking what was left of my wages.
I walked around, checking for knocks and dents, kicking the tyres without knowing why. I peered through the driver window at the dashboard and could see myself sitting inside, riding around Crosston with the windows down. The insurance would be high, but not as high as if I’d reported the crash in the Nova to the insurance company.
It was too early to knock, and at some point, I’d lost the pen which was always poking around in my pocket. I memorised the telephone number and repeated it with each step for the rest of the way home.
There was nobody awake. I crept through the house and into the kitchen, scribbled down the number and attached it to my A magnet. Messages had built up, old ones from Lambert and Will about the party I went to, more for another I’d missed. I binned each one until I came to a number with no name. Written beneath it in my mother’s handwriting was one word, girl.
It could have been anyone and it was stupid to assume, but I thought of Brigitte. I crept up the stairs and into bed, trying to empty my mind and sleep, but all I could think about was her, and the possibility she’d found my number. Maybe at work while she was drawing a picture of me on her scribble pad.
I was still awake when I heard the shower run and doors slam, hard noises from the kitchen below. Sometime between thinking about getting up and considering when it wasn’t too early to call someone on a Sunday morning, I fell asleep.
*
In my dream, I bought the car. Brigitte was beside me wearing the same blue bikini as the woman on the poster in the garage. The sun was out, and she was smiling but then it started to rain. She was cold. I drove fast, trying to find the sun again. She asked me to take her home, her boyfriend was coming over. I kept telling her we were nearly there.
