Slack-Tide, page 10
When it stopped, a seagull landed and stood on the glass, shaking the drops from its back. I watched, then my alarm went off and the seagull looked down at me. I stood up on the bed, my sheet pulled around me, and put my hand to where the bird was. It flew away, and the sky cleared.
Robert had replied overnight.
Angle of incidence measures inclination relative to an established reference. A more useful bit of information: in optics, the angle of incidence always equals the angle of refraction. A ray of light will ‘bounce’ off a reflective surface at the same angle that it arrived. The angle of incidence is usually measured relative to ‘normal’, an imaginary line that is perpendicular to the reflective surface. Sometimes the inclination is measured relative to the surface of the water; this is known as the glancing angle. The phenomenon accurately predicts all sorts of things, like the inflected path of a perfectly smooth marble ricocheting off a polished stone somewhere in the vacuum of outer space. Or perhaps the trajectory of an overly ardent suitor after confronting the brittle object of his attention.
I wrote back, that something was changing, with that brittleness, and that I didn’t want him to feel like a man refracted. Then I told him about my storm-blown bird and he replied right away.
I know you didn’t want me to go but I have to go sometimes. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ll always do. I sometimes feel like your stormed-up, sleepy bird, you know? Standing on glass, looking down at the beautiful girl.
He sent a postcard.
On its face was a photograph of a family of lions. The shot was a close-up: the adult male reclining with the female and three cubs in a kind of embrace, so that he lay half over them and the arm of one of the cubs was flung over its siblings. Apart from my name and address, in Robert’s careful capitals, the back of the card was wordless. In the space left for a message, he’d drawn the outline of the adult female with his black felt tip. Her hollow head was inclined towards her cubs, her eye a crescent dash, shut fast in sleep.
The following week he took me to a supper party given by an opera director. Among the other guests was a cousin of Robert’s who was a musician, and Juliet, who came on her own, just as she had for Magali’s and Olivier’s party. More musicians arrived later, after curtain-down, and one of the company asked him if he would like to finance their next show, in Vienna.
‘Of course,’ he said, smiling. ‘Pitch it to me right now.’
I stayed for a while, and joined in with a few conversations until, suddenly, it seemed as though everyone was pretending to be someone they weren’t. I didn’t want to be there, and I left before him.
I went back to his place and texted to say sorry I’d left, and that I was tired. I’d go straight to bed, and he should come back anytime he liked: I’d be fast asleep so he wouldn’t wake me.
Over breakfast, he told me about the rest of the party, and reported that the talk had turned to me. First, he said, was the opera director’s description of my ‘ferocious intelligence’, which Robert said wasn’t patronising. ‘He was being nice, honey. He liked you!’
Then followed Juliet’s views on my last novel. She told the party she’d discussed it with a ‘close friend’ who had sat on a prize panel which had, that year, rejected it.
‘And then? What else am I to answer for?’
‘There was one other topic.’
‘Really? There was anything left to dissect, after all that?’
‘What we are to one another.’
‘And?’
‘Juliet said it was for you to walk away.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘If you want children. That’s what she was referring to. She told me, “Robert, darling. It’s not for you to tell her to leave. She must make up her own mind about that.”’
‘But you haven’t made up your mind. You told me you were open to it, and that if you decided you weren’t, you’d absolutely tell me straight away. That was our deal.’
‘I did. And I will. That absolutely still applies. I’m just reporting what she said after you’d gone. Full disclosure.’
‘Even if I was interested in what someone who’s met me precisely twice, and barely so much as spoken to me on either occasion, has to say about my reproductive options, how could she possibly have formed an opinion about it being for me to walk away, unless you’d told her you didn’t want kids? How?’
‘Easy, honey, easy. Our deal stands. Can we look at flights for Vienna? They want us to be there for the opening. It would mean a lot to me if you’d come.’
Leaving his apartment after breakfast, I couldn’t undo my bike lock. I tried for twenty minutes, by which time the backs of both my hands were grazed. Then I saw that the bike next to mine had been locked in such a way that, unless that other lock was removed, releasing my own was a physical impossibility.
I phoned Robert, up in his apartment.
‘Where are you calling from?’
‘Outside.’
‘But you left a heap of time ago. What’s happening?’
When he came down, I was crying with frustration.
‘Honey, it’s no big deal. We’ll fix it.’
‘It’s not fixable.’
He moved my lock back and forth, then the other bike’s. ‘That’s amazing,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Who would do that? I’m apologising on behalf of my neighbour. It’s so dumb, it’s embarrassing.’
‘Do you know whose it is?’
‘I think so.’
‘Can we call them?’
‘Oh, he’ll have gone already, for sure. He’s never here during the day. Can you walk, just this time? We can knock him up tonight and ask him to move it.’
‘No I can’t. I’ll be late for my brother. I told him to be early, so we’d have longer. He’s hardly ever free for lunch. I’ve got to go back and change and get my stuff for the library this afternoon, send a bunch of emails then cycle to the City. I can’t walk.’
‘Listen. There’s nothing to cry about. I’ll call the guy, I’ll find a way to fix it. I promise.’
He was away for five minutes, then he reappeared with a black case, made of hard rubber.
‘What is that?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve cleared this with him, he was already at his office. If you’re gonna cycle today, it’s our only option.’
He wore a transparent mask, and elbow-length work gloves. He shouted over the noise of the angle grinder, ‘Stand back. No, further back!’
It was over so fast, I didn’t have time to tell him it was unnecessary. That I could phone Will and explain, and ask him to reschedule.
Picking up the pieces of the neighbour’s lock where they’d fallen, I asked Robert what he was planning to do with the bike.
‘I’ll keep it inside.’ He pulled the mask from his face. ‘I’ve told him to come pick it up tonight, and not be such a dumbass next time. Go, honey. I don’t want you to be late.’
‘But you saved me. You actually saved me.’
He took off his gloves, and put the grinder in its case. He kissed me, then he wiped my tears with his shirtsleeve. He wheeled my bike around and pointed it down the street. I sat on it, and he stepped forward, slipping his hands in his chino pockets and jogging just ahead of me, like a coach.
‘C’mon, babe. You gotta go. I gotta go.’ He turned back and smiled, with the sun on his molasses-brown eyes.
I cycled past him, laughing and calling, ‘You look like Keanu Reeves. Did I ever tell you that? You look like a movie star.’
‘No you didn’t, and no I don’t. Cycle safe, honey. Cycle safe and come back soon.’
Later, over lunch with my brother, I told him about Robert’s deal, and about what the well-known actor had said.
‘Doesn’t matter what she said. It’s simple. A fifty-two-year-old guy whose wife has left him is never going to turn down no-strings-attached sex with an attractive, intelligent, much younger woman. End of. So while he’s “making his mind up”, if that’s what he wants to call it, how about freezing your eggs until you meet someone better?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘He’s unlikely to want any more kids. If he did, he wouldn’t be keeping you waiting, would he? He’d be getting on with it. And so should you be.’
‘But he’s who I’m with. I haven’t met anyone else.’
‘What do you mean, you haven’t met anyone else? Have you tried online?’
‘Give me a break. What about your friends? Don’t you know any handsome fertile bankers in need of a girlfriend?’
‘Actually, now you mention it, you should meet –’ and his phone was out of his pocket. ‘No. On second thoughts, he’s a prick. Sorry.’ He put it away again.
‘Thing is, I think I’m falling in love.’
‘Think?’
‘Know. I know I am. I love him.’
‘That’s delightful, Liz-bee. But I’m not kidding. You’re forty. Why not freeze a few? This guy sounds like he’s onto too much of a good thing to let you go, but nor is he going to do the decent thing and rule it out. He knows damn well that if he tells you he doesn’t want kids, you’ll be out of there. No more midnight sushi parties, no more showing you off to his geriatric friends, no more licky-sucky sleepovers.’
‘Will!’
‘Will, nothing. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Take out a loan if you can’t afford it. Why wouldn’t you want to have kids? You’d be an amazing mum.’
Robert told me his son had a spring break coming up. For two weeks, Philippe would stay with his mother at her flat in Primrose Hill. Robert wanted to block out the dates, and keep them free, he told me, just in case.
‘Have you guys made plans?’
‘Oh, no. He’s kind of a free spirit. He might want a night here, at my apartment. I told him he could sleep on the mezzanine. Dial out for pizza, watch Netflix.’ He smiled. ‘Bring girls. Eat sushi.’
‘OK. Would you like to come to the BFI with me on Thursday? There’s a special screening of Truly Madly Deeply. I love that movie.’
‘Honey, I’d just rather keep things open.’
‘Or the Complicite thing at the Barbican? They still had tickets when I looked.’
‘You go ahead. I just want to be available for him. Totally, completely, available. It’s only two weeks. It’s not that I don’t want to see you, I just – Pretend I’m on a trip, or something.’
‘OK.’
‘Don’t be mad at me.’
‘I’m not. I just didn’t realise you had to be free for the whole two weeks. Even though you haven’t actually got an actual plan to see him.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just the way it is.’
‘It’s fine. It’s wonderful you can clear your diary, just like that.’
I went back to Robert’s place that afternoon, before he got home from work. When I’d collected the things I’d need for that fortnight, I stopped for a glass of water. The kitchen cupboards had been cleared of my food, and filled with taco shells, ketchup and Snickers bars. In the fridge, instead of yogurt and carrots and sparkling water, there were energy drinks, Coca-Cola, and three brands of beer.
A few days into Philippe’s visit, Robert called. I was writing, with my phone on silent. When I surfaced, to get ready for the theatre, there were thirteen missed calls.
‘What’s the matter?’ I said when he picked up. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. What do you mean?’
‘I missed your calls. I’m sorry, I was working.’
‘Oh, it’s no problem, I was just calling to ask if you wanted dinner tonight.’
‘You called me thirteen times.’
‘You didn’t pick up.’
‘Thirteen times? Just to ask me for dinner? I thought something awful had happened.’
‘I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.’
‘OK.’
‘OK? Is that all? Don’t you miss me too?’
‘Actually I was writing. I hadn’t –’
‘It’s OK. You were working. So where do you want to go for dinner? Anywhere. Name your place.’
‘I’m not free tonight. I’m seeing some Chekhov.’
‘Can I come?’
‘It’s sold out. Hang on, I thought you were having Philippe over? Isn’t he staying with you?’
‘His mom’s taking him to a bunch of things this week.’
‘I’ve got to hang up now. I’m almost late.’
‘You’re going, just like that?’
‘I said, I’m late. They’re not going to hold the play because I got a call from my boyfriend.’
The same thing happened the next day, though it was fourteen times, not thirteen. We spoke briefly, and again I said I was rushing out, and would call another time. When he left ten messages on the Friday, I didn’t call back. Coming home from a party in the early hours, my phone rang and I picked up straight away, thinking it was someone checking to see I was back OK.
‘Wassup?’ I said.
‘Elizabeth? Are you OK?’
‘Robert?’
‘Honey, are you OK?’
‘It’s two in the morning. Why are you calling me? And yes, of course I’m OK. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You just slurred your words. You sound a little –’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You said “wassup?”’
‘That’s a word, Robert.’
‘What kind of a word?’
‘It’s a colloquial greeting favoured by young people. It’s short for “what’s up?” Which means “hello-how-are-you-what-can-I-do-for-you?” Anyway, please explain, why are you calling me at two in the morning?’
‘I couldn’t get a hold of you yesterday. I just wanted to see how you’re doing, whether you wanna take a walk Sunday. Get brunch somewhere, see an exhibition?’
‘We said we’d meet next weekend, when Philippe’s gone. Saturday brunch, you said. And I’m walking home right now, in the dark, so I’d rather not be talking on the phone, if you don’t mind. Why are you awake anyway? You never stay up this late.’
‘I can’t sleep. I miss you.’
‘I’m going, honey. Call Philippe tomorrow, see if he’s got any free time.’
‘He doesn’t pick up.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be in touch. He must just be busy, catching up with friends. He’s been away a while, hasn’t he?’
‘OK.’ His voice had switched to a flat, cold hardness. ‘If that’s the way you want it. Goodnight, Elizabeth,’ and the line went dead.
I didn’t hear from him at all that second week, so I emailed him on the Friday morning.
Dear Robert,
How are things? I hope you had some time with Philippe, and all’s well.
Are you still free for brunch tomorrow? It’s been a while! Meet at the cafe in Shoreditch, the one with the eggs you liked that time?
Elizabeth xx
He replied so late I’d begun to think he was freezing me out.
Dear Elizabeth,
I’d prefer to come over to your place. I’ll be with you at 11.
R
I was annoyed, and wrote straight back.
Got cabin fever. Been writing all day and will carry on tonight, till late. I’d rather the cafe. If you don’t want that, fine, we can meet another time.
E x
Almost before I hit ‘send’, there was his reply.
Sure. I’ll reserve us a table for 11. Don’t be tardy.
R
He opened with the accusation I’d expected.
‘You’re just not really into me, Elizabeth. You carry on with your life as though I don’t exist. These last ten days –’
‘These last ten days that were exactly what you asked for! Did you even think about how that would feel for me, being dropped for two weeks, because your son was in town? Did you consider introducing the two of us? Or what – am I some kind of guilty secret?’
‘Philippe doesn’t know about you yet. I can’t just spring you on him.’
‘If you don’t even tell him you have a girlfriend, how will it ever not be “springing” me on him? And what would be so terrible about that anyway?’
‘You don’t understand. It would be massively significant for him. It would be like, I don’t know –’
‘Like what?’
‘OK, here’s what. It would be like some ultra-conservative guy telling his even more ultra-conservative father he’s gay. Or something.’
‘What the fuck?’
‘I’m Philippe’s dad. I’m married to Philippe’s mom, you know.’
‘You broke up! Or are you going back to her? Are the two of you talking things over?’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Well, are you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I mean, no. No, we’re not.’
‘But you said – Oh, forget it. But I would be interested to know how exactly a separated heterosexual man telling his son about a new girlfriend is the equivalent of a guy telling his homophobic dad he’s gay. That’s problematic on so many levels.’
‘I know. It’s hard to explain. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too. I’m going now. I need some air.’
‘You need some air?’
‘I’ve got to call someone.’
‘Who?’
‘It’s private. Phone me later, if you want.’
‘He’ll hurt you,’ Magali said, when I called to tell her that Robert had said ‘I don’t think so’ about going back to his wife. ‘You’ve got to leave him.’
‘But I’m in love. I’ve fallen in love.’
‘This is a guy who will hurt you. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.’
‘Nor do I, Mag. I have absolutely no idea.’
I took the Tube south, to walk by the river. I was at Tate Modern when Robert called. He came to meet me and we walked along the South Bank.
I put it to him that his crazy phoning, and his overblown affection right from the start, when he’d plied me with gifts, and said he loved me after only three dates, had been bewildering.
‘It was so quick, Robert. You talked about children the first time we slept together. It felt, I don’t know, it felt so intense. Here we are, four months on, and you can’t even tell your own son about me.’
Robert had replied overnight.
Angle of incidence measures inclination relative to an established reference. A more useful bit of information: in optics, the angle of incidence always equals the angle of refraction. A ray of light will ‘bounce’ off a reflective surface at the same angle that it arrived. The angle of incidence is usually measured relative to ‘normal’, an imaginary line that is perpendicular to the reflective surface. Sometimes the inclination is measured relative to the surface of the water; this is known as the glancing angle. The phenomenon accurately predicts all sorts of things, like the inflected path of a perfectly smooth marble ricocheting off a polished stone somewhere in the vacuum of outer space. Or perhaps the trajectory of an overly ardent suitor after confronting the brittle object of his attention.
I wrote back, that something was changing, with that brittleness, and that I didn’t want him to feel like a man refracted. Then I told him about my storm-blown bird and he replied right away.
I know you didn’t want me to go but I have to go sometimes. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ll always do. I sometimes feel like your stormed-up, sleepy bird, you know? Standing on glass, looking down at the beautiful girl.
He sent a postcard.
On its face was a photograph of a family of lions. The shot was a close-up: the adult male reclining with the female and three cubs in a kind of embrace, so that he lay half over them and the arm of one of the cubs was flung over its siblings. Apart from my name and address, in Robert’s careful capitals, the back of the card was wordless. In the space left for a message, he’d drawn the outline of the adult female with his black felt tip. Her hollow head was inclined towards her cubs, her eye a crescent dash, shut fast in sleep.
The following week he took me to a supper party given by an opera director. Among the other guests was a cousin of Robert’s who was a musician, and Juliet, who came on her own, just as she had for Magali’s and Olivier’s party. More musicians arrived later, after curtain-down, and one of the company asked him if he would like to finance their next show, in Vienna.
‘Of course,’ he said, smiling. ‘Pitch it to me right now.’
I stayed for a while, and joined in with a few conversations until, suddenly, it seemed as though everyone was pretending to be someone they weren’t. I didn’t want to be there, and I left before him.
I went back to his place and texted to say sorry I’d left, and that I was tired. I’d go straight to bed, and he should come back anytime he liked: I’d be fast asleep so he wouldn’t wake me.
Over breakfast, he told me about the rest of the party, and reported that the talk had turned to me. First, he said, was the opera director’s description of my ‘ferocious intelligence’, which Robert said wasn’t patronising. ‘He was being nice, honey. He liked you!’
Then followed Juliet’s views on my last novel. She told the party she’d discussed it with a ‘close friend’ who had sat on a prize panel which had, that year, rejected it.
‘And then? What else am I to answer for?’
‘There was one other topic.’
‘Really? There was anything left to dissect, after all that?’
‘What we are to one another.’
‘And?’
‘Juliet said it was for you to walk away.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘If you want children. That’s what she was referring to. She told me, “Robert, darling. It’s not for you to tell her to leave. She must make up her own mind about that.”’
‘But you haven’t made up your mind. You told me you were open to it, and that if you decided you weren’t, you’d absolutely tell me straight away. That was our deal.’
‘I did. And I will. That absolutely still applies. I’m just reporting what she said after you’d gone. Full disclosure.’
‘Even if I was interested in what someone who’s met me precisely twice, and barely so much as spoken to me on either occasion, has to say about my reproductive options, how could she possibly have formed an opinion about it being for me to walk away, unless you’d told her you didn’t want kids? How?’
‘Easy, honey, easy. Our deal stands. Can we look at flights for Vienna? They want us to be there for the opening. It would mean a lot to me if you’d come.’
Leaving his apartment after breakfast, I couldn’t undo my bike lock. I tried for twenty minutes, by which time the backs of both my hands were grazed. Then I saw that the bike next to mine had been locked in such a way that, unless that other lock was removed, releasing my own was a physical impossibility.
I phoned Robert, up in his apartment.
‘Where are you calling from?’
‘Outside.’
‘But you left a heap of time ago. What’s happening?’
When he came down, I was crying with frustration.
‘Honey, it’s no big deal. We’ll fix it.’
‘It’s not fixable.’
He moved my lock back and forth, then the other bike’s. ‘That’s amazing,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Who would do that? I’m apologising on behalf of my neighbour. It’s so dumb, it’s embarrassing.’
‘Do you know whose it is?’
‘I think so.’
‘Can we call them?’
‘Oh, he’ll have gone already, for sure. He’s never here during the day. Can you walk, just this time? We can knock him up tonight and ask him to move it.’
‘No I can’t. I’ll be late for my brother. I told him to be early, so we’d have longer. He’s hardly ever free for lunch. I’ve got to go back and change and get my stuff for the library this afternoon, send a bunch of emails then cycle to the City. I can’t walk.’
‘Listen. There’s nothing to cry about. I’ll call the guy, I’ll find a way to fix it. I promise.’
He was away for five minutes, then he reappeared with a black case, made of hard rubber.
‘What is that?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve cleared this with him, he was already at his office. If you’re gonna cycle today, it’s our only option.’
He wore a transparent mask, and elbow-length work gloves. He shouted over the noise of the angle grinder, ‘Stand back. No, further back!’
It was over so fast, I didn’t have time to tell him it was unnecessary. That I could phone Will and explain, and ask him to reschedule.
Picking up the pieces of the neighbour’s lock where they’d fallen, I asked Robert what he was planning to do with the bike.
‘I’ll keep it inside.’ He pulled the mask from his face. ‘I’ve told him to come pick it up tonight, and not be such a dumbass next time. Go, honey. I don’t want you to be late.’
‘But you saved me. You actually saved me.’
He took off his gloves, and put the grinder in its case. He kissed me, then he wiped my tears with his shirtsleeve. He wheeled my bike around and pointed it down the street. I sat on it, and he stepped forward, slipping his hands in his chino pockets and jogging just ahead of me, like a coach.
‘C’mon, babe. You gotta go. I gotta go.’ He turned back and smiled, with the sun on his molasses-brown eyes.
I cycled past him, laughing and calling, ‘You look like Keanu Reeves. Did I ever tell you that? You look like a movie star.’
‘No you didn’t, and no I don’t. Cycle safe, honey. Cycle safe and come back soon.’
Later, over lunch with my brother, I told him about Robert’s deal, and about what the well-known actor had said.
‘Doesn’t matter what she said. It’s simple. A fifty-two-year-old guy whose wife has left him is never going to turn down no-strings-attached sex with an attractive, intelligent, much younger woman. End of. So while he’s “making his mind up”, if that’s what he wants to call it, how about freezing your eggs until you meet someone better?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘He’s unlikely to want any more kids. If he did, he wouldn’t be keeping you waiting, would he? He’d be getting on with it. And so should you be.’
‘But he’s who I’m with. I haven’t met anyone else.’
‘What do you mean, you haven’t met anyone else? Have you tried online?’
‘Give me a break. What about your friends? Don’t you know any handsome fertile bankers in need of a girlfriend?’
‘Actually, now you mention it, you should meet –’ and his phone was out of his pocket. ‘No. On second thoughts, he’s a prick. Sorry.’ He put it away again.
‘Thing is, I think I’m falling in love.’
‘Think?’
‘Know. I know I am. I love him.’
‘That’s delightful, Liz-bee. But I’m not kidding. You’re forty. Why not freeze a few? This guy sounds like he’s onto too much of a good thing to let you go, but nor is he going to do the decent thing and rule it out. He knows damn well that if he tells you he doesn’t want kids, you’ll be out of there. No more midnight sushi parties, no more showing you off to his geriatric friends, no more licky-sucky sleepovers.’
‘Will!’
‘Will, nothing. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Take out a loan if you can’t afford it. Why wouldn’t you want to have kids? You’d be an amazing mum.’
Robert told me his son had a spring break coming up. For two weeks, Philippe would stay with his mother at her flat in Primrose Hill. Robert wanted to block out the dates, and keep them free, he told me, just in case.
‘Have you guys made plans?’
‘Oh, no. He’s kind of a free spirit. He might want a night here, at my apartment. I told him he could sleep on the mezzanine. Dial out for pizza, watch Netflix.’ He smiled. ‘Bring girls. Eat sushi.’
‘OK. Would you like to come to the BFI with me on Thursday? There’s a special screening of Truly Madly Deeply. I love that movie.’
‘Honey, I’d just rather keep things open.’
‘Or the Complicite thing at the Barbican? They still had tickets when I looked.’
‘You go ahead. I just want to be available for him. Totally, completely, available. It’s only two weeks. It’s not that I don’t want to see you, I just – Pretend I’m on a trip, or something.’
‘OK.’
‘Don’t be mad at me.’
‘I’m not. I just didn’t realise you had to be free for the whole two weeks. Even though you haven’t actually got an actual plan to see him.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just the way it is.’
‘It’s fine. It’s wonderful you can clear your diary, just like that.’
I went back to Robert’s place that afternoon, before he got home from work. When I’d collected the things I’d need for that fortnight, I stopped for a glass of water. The kitchen cupboards had been cleared of my food, and filled with taco shells, ketchup and Snickers bars. In the fridge, instead of yogurt and carrots and sparkling water, there were energy drinks, Coca-Cola, and three brands of beer.
A few days into Philippe’s visit, Robert called. I was writing, with my phone on silent. When I surfaced, to get ready for the theatre, there were thirteen missed calls.
‘What’s the matter?’ I said when he picked up. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. What do you mean?’
‘I missed your calls. I’m sorry, I was working.’
‘Oh, it’s no problem, I was just calling to ask if you wanted dinner tonight.’
‘You called me thirteen times.’
‘You didn’t pick up.’
‘Thirteen times? Just to ask me for dinner? I thought something awful had happened.’
‘I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.’
‘OK.’
‘OK? Is that all? Don’t you miss me too?’
‘Actually I was writing. I hadn’t –’
‘It’s OK. You were working. So where do you want to go for dinner? Anywhere. Name your place.’
‘I’m not free tonight. I’m seeing some Chekhov.’
‘Can I come?’
‘It’s sold out. Hang on, I thought you were having Philippe over? Isn’t he staying with you?’
‘His mom’s taking him to a bunch of things this week.’
‘I’ve got to hang up now. I’m almost late.’
‘You’re going, just like that?’
‘I said, I’m late. They’re not going to hold the play because I got a call from my boyfriend.’
The same thing happened the next day, though it was fourteen times, not thirteen. We spoke briefly, and again I said I was rushing out, and would call another time. When he left ten messages on the Friday, I didn’t call back. Coming home from a party in the early hours, my phone rang and I picked up straight away, thinking it was someone checking to see I was back OK.
‘Wassup?’ I said.
‘Elizabeth? Are you OK?’
‘Robert?’
‘Honey, are you OK?’
‘It’s two in the morning. Why are you calling me? And yes, of course I’m OK. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You just slurred your words. You sound a little –’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You said “wassup?”’
‘That’s a word, Robert.’
‘What kind of a word?’
‘It’s a colloquial greeting favoured by young people. It’s short for “what’s up?” Which means “hello-how-are-you-what-can-I-do-for-you?” Anyway, please explain, why are you calling me at two in the morning?’
‘I couldn’t get a hold of you yesterday. I just wanted to see how you’re doing, whether you wanna take a walk Sunday. Get brunch somewhere, see an exhibition?’
‘We said we’d meet next weekend, when Philippe’s gone. Saturday brunch, you said. And I’m walking home right now, in the dark, so I’d rather not be talking on the phone, if you don’t mind. Why are you awake anyway? You never stay up this late.’
‘I can’t sleep. I miss you.’
‘I’m going, honey. Call Philippe tomorrow, see if he’s got any free time.’
‘He doesn’t pick up.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be in touch. He must just be busy, catching up with friends. He’s been away a while, hasn’t he?’
‘OK.’ His voice had switched to a flat, cold hardness. ‘If that’s the way you want it. Goodnight, Elizabeth,’ and the line went dead.
I didn’t hear from him at all that second week, so I emailed him on the Friday morning.
Dear Robert,
How are things? I hope you had some time with Philippe, and all’s well.
Are you still free for brunch tomorrow? It’s been a while! Meet at the cafe in Shoreditch, the one with the eggs you liked that time?
Elizabeth xx
He replied so late I’d begun to think he was freezing me out.
Dear Elizabeth,
I’d prefer to come over to your place. I’ll be with you at 11.
R
I was annoyed, and wrote straight back.
Got cabin fever. Been writing all day and will carry on tonight, till late. I’d rather the cafe. If you don’t want that, fine, we can meet another time.
E x
Almost before I hit ‘send’, there was his reply.
Sure. I’ll reserve us a table for 11. Don’t be tardy.
R
He opened with the accusation I’d expected.
‘You’re just not really into me, Elizabeth. You carry on with your life as though I don’t exist. These last ten days –’
‘These last ten days that were exactly what you asked for! Did you even think about how that would feel for me, being dropped for two weeks, because your son was in town? Did you consider introducing the two of us? Or what – am I some kind of guilty secret?’
‘Philippe doesn’t know about you yet. I can’t just spring you on him.’
‘If you don’t even tell him you have a girlfriend, how will it ever not be “springing” me on him? And what would be so terrible about that anyway?’
‘You don’t understand. It would be massively significant for him. It would be like, I don’t know –’
‘Like what?’
‘OK, here’s what. It would be like some ultra-conservative guy telling his even more ultra-conservative father he’s gay. Or something.’
‘What the fuck?’
‘I’m Philippe’s dad. I’m married to Philippe’s mom, you know.’
‘You broke up! Or are you going back to her? Are the two of you talking things over?’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Well, are you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I mean, no. No, we’re not.’
‘But you said – Oh, forget it. But I would be interested to know how exactly a separated heterosexual man telling his son about a new girlfriend is the equivalent of a guy telling his homophobic dad he’s gay. That’s problematic on so many levels.’
‘I know. It’s hard to explain. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too. I’m going now. I need some air.’
‘You need some air?’
‘I’ve got to call someone.’
‘Who?’
‘It’s private. Phone me later, if you want.’
‘He’ll hurt you,’ Magali said, when I called to tell her that Robert had said ‘I don’t think so’ about going back to his wife. ‘You’ve got to leave him.’
‘But I’m in love. I’ve fallen in love.’
‘This is a guy who will hurt you. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.’
‘Nor do I, Mag. I have absolutely no idea.’
I took the Tube south, to walk by the river. I was at Tate Modern when Robert called. He came to meet me and we walked along the South Bank.
I put it to him that his crazy phoning, and his overblown affection right from the start, when he’d plied me with gifts, and said he loved me after only three dates, had been bewildering.
‘It was so quick, Robert. You talked about children the first time we slept together. It felt, I don’t know, it felt so intense. Here we are, four months on, and you can’t even tell your own son about me.’
