A Married Man, page 25
‘Remember how desperate you were for it in that shop?’ He grinned, sitting down opposite me.
My jaw dropped, and I was about to protest that I jolly well wasn’t desperate when suddenly I realized he was nodding towards the cheese. An oozing, evil-looking affair, with such a colossal whiff it was making me clench my nostrils already, was spreading over a plate.
‘Oh, yes!’ I tinkled a merry laugh, straining hard to read the label which was upside down. ‘Of course. Espouse, isn’t it?’
‘No no, Epoisses,’ he said, helping me to a great soggy dollop. As it plopped onto my plate, the ammonia shot up my nose.
‘Ah. Right.’ I flushed, realizing that espouse meant something entirely different, something I hadn’t meant to mention at all. The awful thing was though, the more I thought about it, or her, or spouses in general, and trying not to mention them, or her, the more horribly compulsive it became.
‘And, and how, how is your …’ I realized to my horror that I was veering unaccountably, disastrously, towards the word ‘wife’. ‘Your daughter?’ I finished, realizing this was not great either, but miles better than the former.
‘Ellen?’ He looked up from his cheese ladling, surprised. ‘She’s fine, thanks. Came up with me this morning, actually. She had a ballet exam in London, along with her cousin, Sarah. She’s staying with her cousins for a while, over in Chiswick. Well, just for a couple of days. They’re all great mates, and with Ellen being an only, it’s quite fun for her.’
‘Oh. Yes, how nice.’
‘And your boys?’ He coloured. It was unavoidable though, wasn’t it? I’d asked, so it seemed rude not to ask back, but were our offspring by other partners really quite the ticket, here? Couldn’t we get back to that nice, intimate eye-holding and hand-brushing of just a moment ago?
‘They’re fine too,’ I said shortly, and strove to change the subject.
‘Mmm …’ I shut my eyes and popped a dollop of cheese in my mouth, thinking it really couldn’t be that bad. It was much worse. I held my breath. ‘Delicious!’ I moaned. Oh God, it was putrid. Was I going to be sick? I rolled the revolting lump of phlegm around in my mouth in agony. Suddenly I lunged for my glass, took a big gulp, and miraculously, the cheese went down with it.
He grinned. ‘Quite cheeky, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll say!’ I heaved.
‘Have some salad.’
‘Thanks.’
I helped myself to a huge mound of greenery to cover its cheekiness and tucked in heartily, beaming up the while, chomping away like a happy rabbit to prove how delicious it was, when – oh Christ. Vinegar. In the dressing! The only other one of my all-time greatest hates – and I swear, I’m not a fussy eater – but vinegar … I put my fork down miserably and stared at the mountain on my plate, vowing that if this man and I ever did share a special, spiritual harmony, I’d come clean about salad dressings and cheeses, but right now, when he’d made such an effort … Oh hell. I looked up and realized he was watching me.
‘You can’t eat,’ he breathed, really rather excitedly.
‘N-no!’ I admitted, spotting a convenient loophole and swimming towards it. I even summoned up a bit of heavy breathing, which wasn’t difficult. ‘No, I can’t. Can’t even … swallow.’
For some reason, this news excited him even more. He pushed his plate away. ‘I’m not sure I can, either.’ Then, ‘Sod it,’ he declared impulsively.
I waited, paralysed with excitement, transfixed in my wrought-iron chair. What would ‘sod it’ bring?
‘Seems such a waste,’ I ventured, but firmly pushed my own plate away too, sending it sailing joyously off. We gazed at each other, enjoying our own, far more delicious, private feast, swimming in a sea of mutual attraction.
‘It’s no good,’ he whispered, in tones I’d previously only ever encountered in pulp fiction, ‘I can’t resist you any longer. I’ve done my best to be cautious and chivalrous but – oh my God, Lucy …’
In an instant he was on his feet, and so was I – almost – except my loopy cuff braiding had got caught on the arm of my spindly chair, so I was sort of half up – and stuck.
‘Oh my darling!’ He rushed to embrace me, but found himself hugging a hunchback, fighting the arm of a chair. My face was in his stomach, somewhere.
‘Hang on!’ I gasped. ‘Just got to – there!’ I freed myself and shot up to almost chin level, and ignoring his startled eyes, was in his arms. His lips met mine, our eyes shut, our heads swam, and we slipped into an endless kiss. It was such a relief after all that cheese and vinegar, and oh my, it was passionate. His hands gripped me close but explored me too, and my goodness he was dexterous. There was nothing slow and calculated about this; this man was hot, aflame, and all the while, raining desperate kisses over my face, my mouth, my throat. I felt the excitement surge through me, coming up like a torrent, as if with a deafening crack of melting ice, the spring floods had burst down through the parched old valleys, taking with them everything in their path.
Welded together by various vital organs, we started to inch our way inside, moaning with excitement, unable to prise our lips apart, but moving, with a tacit consensus, towards the kitchen, and the relative comfort and privacy of Indoors. Movement was difficult though, with his hands still frisking me the while, first cupping my face, then exploring my back, then – hello – up to grasp my neck again, and of course we couldn’t really see, so …
‘Ooops!’ A flower-pot took a bit of battering. Fell over and smashed to smithereens, in fact. Then: ‘Ouch – bugger!’ from Charlie, as he tripped over the sharp, terracotta pieces.
But finally we were inside, and inching slowly through the kitchen, still locked in a mighty embrace, except now my jacket was leaving my shoulders – I wriggled eagerly – and being dumped unceremoniously on the kitchen floor. His hands slipped quickly up my shirt as we made for what I presumed was the bedroom in this ground-floor flat, except that the kisses were getting more and more intense and we seemed in danger of never actually leaving the kitchen. In fact, we seemed to be heading irrevocably for the kitchen table. Now attractive though that might be at a later date, I was keen, in the first instance, to be more comfortably installed, so I led him decisively by the lips, and the shirt collar, down the passage.
At the first door we came to, I felt behind me, turned a handle, and leaned determinedly against it. It flew open with our combined weight, and we landed horizontally, but rather uncomfortably, in the cupboard under the stairs.
‘Oh God, sorry!’ I gasped from beneath him.
‘Fine, no it’s fine,’ he panted back, wrestling with my shirt.
My eyes froze open. What, fine as in – This Will Do? I wasn’t convinced myself, but there seemed to be precious little I could do about it. His weight was colossal, and as I spat out a bit of feather duster and manoeuvred a vacuum cleaner nozzle out of my back, I reasoned that actually, it was quite spacious, and certainly dark enough to hide any cellulite or stretchmarks. He was all over me now, anyway, clearly convinced I’d found the perfect spot, and d’you know, as heady pleasure overtook me, I was beginning to think I had, too. I did shut my eyes tight though, when I spotted a box of nails by my right ear. I didn’t want to catch sight of any heavy duty screws at a seminal moment.
As storming hands and a rare old breeze roared around my midriff and further north, too, there came a sudden, shrill ringing in my ears. We froze, mid-caress. Stared at each other in horror.
‘What was that!’ I gasped inanely, knowing full well.
‘The doorbell,’ he panted back.
We stared at each other, horrified, in the gloom.
‘They’ll go away,’ he reasoned, ‘eventually.’
We waited, paralysed with fear, ridiculously half-dressed, and then it came again. A shrill, persistent summons, accompanied, this time, by a sharp rap on the glass pane.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Charlie.
The rapping came again. He hesitated. Then, ‘Hang on, I’ll have a peek.’
Charlie stuck his head around the cupboard door and I couldn’t resist doing the same below him. We peered down the hallway like a couple of cartoon characters, one head above the other. In the top, glazed section of the front door, a woman’s head and shoulders were framed, sideways on. A blonde woman, with long hair. My heart began to hammer. Oh God.
Charlie shot back in. ‘It’s my sister.’
‘Oh!’ I clutched my heart. ‘Oh thank God for that! I thought it was your wife!’
‘No, no, it’s Helen. What the hell’s she doing here?’
I stared. How the dickens would I know?
‘Listen,’ he reasoned, ‘it’s probably nothing, but I’ll have to go and see. Then I’ll get rid of her. She’s probably picking up something Ellen left behind. Wait here and I’ll be back in a tick.’
He quickly did up some shirt buttons and smoothed his hair down, while I did up a few of my own.
‘OK?’ he asked. ‘Back soon, my angel – stay right there!’
‘Is there a light?’ I squeaked, as he made to shut the door behind him.
‘Oh, yes. Here.’ He flicked it on, and left me in the 100-watt glare of what transpired to be a very dingy, unattractive cupboard. Crouched there, in amongst the buckets, the fire-lighters, the shoe polish, the Hoovers and the Squeegee mop, horror and shame rose within me. God, what was I doing here? Shirt up around my armpits, in a broom cupboard, for heaven’s sake, like some cheap floozie? And suppose that had been his wife. How awful could that little scenario have been? Oh no, I thought determinedly, frantically smoothing down my hair, no, we wouldn’t be staying here, and I’d tell Charlie so the moment he got back. We’d be off to the double bedroom tout de suite, off to the comfort of the duck down duvet, thank you very much! Or was that even worse, I wondered, with sudden horror. Even more slutty? I mean, in her bedroom? Except that, of course it wasn’t her bedroom, was it? This was very much his bachelor flat, his pied à terre. I gulped. The connotations of that weren’t too great either, because actually, he wasn’t a bachelor. I willed myself not to think about that either, knowing that the moment he was back and I was in his arms I’d be so overcome with passion, none of that would matter. I frowned hard in the overhead glare, wondering if that was a good thing or a bad thing – that passion could overcome scruples? Actually, I didn’t want to think about that, either. If only he’d bleeding well hurry up!
I put my ear to the door, wondering what the hell was going on out there. Suddenly I realized I could hear voices, more than two, and that they were coming this way. I shrank back in horror and quickly flicked the light off, thinking that if she was the thrifty, domestic type, she might see the light under the door and open it to turn it off. God, how humiliating, to be found in here by his sister! The voices seemed to be fading again now, and I waited, rigid with fear, until the door opened softly. I blinked in the gloom. Charlie put his finger to his lips.
‘She’s gone,’ he whispered, ‘but Ellen’s not very well. She was sick after her ballet exam, so Helen brought her back here. I’ve settled her in front of a video in the sitting room, but my darling, I fear our magical afternoon is turning to dust and ashes. I really don’t think we can – well, prostrate ourselves, either here or in the bedroom, with an eight-year-old girl in attendance.’
‘Of course we can’t,’ I said, horrified. ‘No no, I must go. I must leave at once!’
I felt awful, tawdry, terrible. Golly, his daughter, lying next door on a sofa, feeling sick. How would I feel if it were Ben or Max?
‘Do I have to go past the door?’ I said, frantically tucking in my shirt. ‘I mean, the sitting-room door? On the way out?’
‘You do, but it’s shut. She won’t see you. Come.’ He made to lead me by the hand, then turned and kissed me very thoroughly on the mouth. ‘But, Lucy,’ he whispered urgently, ‘we have unfinished business here, my darling. I’ll see you very, very soon.’
I nodded, gulped. Unfinished business. The very words Jack had used to describe his liaison just south of here. So I’d joined the gang, eh? No time to consider the implications of that, either. Right now I had to concentrate on tiptoeing down that hallway, shoes in hand, past the sitting room where I could just hear the television, to the front door. As I turned to say goodbye on the steps, I spotted, with horror, my jacket, lying on the kitchen floor, right at the end of the passage.
‘Oh! Damn, my jacket. Shall I –’
‘I’ll go.’ He squeezed my hand and nipped off. He popped into the kitchen, around the table, and scooped it up neatly. He was on his way back with it dangling from a finger, grinning broadly – when the sitting-room door opened.
‘Dad, where’s the remote control? I can’t – oh!’ She stopped. Saw me, and stared. A small, blonde girl with little round glasses, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her hair still up in a tight, ballerina bun. She blinked at me behind her spectacles, then turned to her father.
‘Ah! Ellen darling, this – this is Laura. Laura works with me at the BBC. She’s just popped round to collect some papers, haven’t you Laura?’
‘Yes! Yes, I have,’ I agreed as she regarded me. She glanced at the shoes in my hand. ‘Hello!’ I quaked cheerily.
‘Why haven’t you got your shoes on?’
‘Oh! Blisters. It’s tearing all over those – those wretched fields,’ I gabbled nervously, clutching wildly at somewhere as far away from Langton Villas and her father as possible.
‘Fields?’ She frowned. ‘What – at the BBC?’
‘Oh well, I do – you know, out-of-studio productions. On location. Animal shows, that kind of thing.’
‘Oh cool. What, like Pet Rescue?’
‘Mmm. Sort of.’
‘I love that programme. There was a really, really lovely hamster on the other day, with only one leg, that badly needed a home, but Mum said no. Do they mostly end up with good homes, though?’
I glanced at Charlie who was inspecting the wallpaper carefully.
‘We … try to place them as best we can,’ I croaked. ‘You know, depending on suitability.’ I nodded.
She nodded too. ‘Ah right. So – you wouldn’t let a pony go to someone who lived in London, for instance?’
‘No-o,’ I agreed, swallowing. ‘I wouldn’t, on the whole, do that.’
‘Or a Labrador to someone in a highrise flat?’
‘Mmm, no. No, quite right.’ Chatty little boffin-like child, this.
‘Come on now Ellen,’ broke in her father, and not before time in my view, ‘back to the sofa. You’re looking a bit peaky and you’ll catch a chill.’
‘But just suppose – hang on, Dad,’ she brushed him off impatiently, ‘just suppose, OK, that I didn’t live in the right place for say – a snake, right, but you still thought I was the best, most loving person, to give it a home?’
‘Well.’ I gazed into the wide blue eyes that posed this moral dilemma. ‘Well.’ I licked my lips. ‘Obviously, I’d have to think very carefully.’ She waited. ‘Very carefully indeed.’ Still she waited. ‘And – and I think, that if a child was passionate about snakes …’
‘But only had a bath tub to keep it in,’ she warned.
‘But only had a bath tub to keep it in,’ I agreed, aware that Charlie’s eyes were on me, huge with wonder, ‘then I really think,’ her glasses flashed ominously, ‘well, I really think I’d still be inclined to let it go to the child who had the most suitable home,’ I finished desperately.
She regarded me coolly through her spectacles for a moment. Smiled.
‘Good. I think that’s the right answer. Passion is all very well,’ she warned, ‘but it can pass.’
‘Oh! Quite right!’ I gasped.
‘You know, you think you’re in love with something, or someone, and then – bam! Suddenly you’re not. I mean, look at me and S Club 7. I think they’re the pits now. And if it’s an animal, it’s much worse. You end up with something that you just don’t love any more. And that’s not very nice, is it?’
‘It most certainly isn’t,’ I agreed humbly.
We all considered this sobering thought, me ogling the doormat, Charlie still transfixed by the wallpaper.
‘So.’ Charlie eventually broke the silence. ‘I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out. Now, back to the sofa, young lady, before you catch your death.’
And this time, happily, she obeyed.
When she’d disappeared and the door had closed behind her, I leaned, weakly, against the door frame. Slipped on my shoes. Felt all in, actually. Charlie took my face in his hands.
‘I had no idea you knew so much about snakes,’ he murmured.
‘Tip of the iceberg,’ I muttered. ‘Trust me. There’s plenty more where that came from.’
‘I can’t wait,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll ring you, my precious.’ He bent down to kiss me. ‘À bientôt.’
And with that, I turned and tripped down the steps into the street, where actually, I was very pleased to be.
I hurried along, not stopping until I reached the relative safety of my own road. Well, you know, my old, own road. I bent my head against a chilly breeze and folded my arms, trying to gauge my feelings. I was obviously disappointed to have had our afternoon curtailed in such an abrupt manner, but annoyingly, rather ashamed, too. Guilty, even. And it wasn’t even as if we’d done anything much to feel guilty about, I reasoned, with mounting irritation. Just a grapple in a broom cupboard, for heaven’s sake. But it was as if, before the fun had even started, before we’d even begun to live dangerously, all the gremlins were closing in around us. Threatening to spoil things for us, forcing us to think about the implications our affair would have on others. So unfair. I kicked miserably at an old Coke can. I mean, sure, six months into an affair, you might kind of feel you deserved all that, but on the first date – blimey.
I pulled my jacket around me, glad of its warmth. The sun had gone in and the first few, huge spots of rain were plopping down. I wished I had my jeans on and not this stupid skirt.
As I reached my house, I started up. Behind that ground-floor curtain would be Rozanna and Hector, shaping up to lunch after a nice nudey sketching session. Upstairs would be Ray and Theo, playing cribbage perhaps, enjoying a pre-lunch sherry and listening to The World at One. Upstairs again, would be Teresa, draining a pan of spaghetti in the sink for Carlo who, Italian-style, insisted on putting his feet under his own table every lunchtime and sharing a bottle of wine with his wife. I hesitated. Should I join them? I could, easily. But on the other hand, what would I say? ‘Oh hi, Teresa, I’m back. Yes, you see, my lover and I were disturbed by his eight-year-old daughter, oh, and his sister too,’ who, now I came to think of it … I narrowed my eyes reflectively at the wet pavement … I was sure I recognized, just from that brief glimpse through the door. I’d seen her before, somewhere, but couldn’t for the life of me think where. Oh well. I shivered. Consulted my watch. I couldn’t possibly pick Jack up yet, it was much too early and he’d be sure to know I’d had a disastrous afternoon. I wasn’t convinced I could cope with his smirking. Instead, on an impulse, I turned on my kitten heels, walked smartly up to the end of the road, then headed left down the King’s Road, to buy a pair of jeans.
