Subjects, page 14
The possibility presented itself that in fact she’d been a complete fool accepting that arrangement. A whole day spare in advance of his engagements? Two days, in this case. Why would he need to be out of the house for quite that long? Was there a connection between his absence and the torn blue envelope? She focused fiercely on the answers to the quiz questions; the antidotes to doubt. The journey of discovery might prove a distraction in this case, a route towards the truth that circumvented her mistrust.
At a gentle pace of one metre per second, it would take just under a thousand million years to cover what astronomical unit of distance?
Ha! She knew that one. A parsec. A word she had happened upon while journeying through Science.
The next ones required a detailed knowledge of the philosophical works of Heidegger, and modern artwork, which her schedule also hadn’t covered yet. But a surprising number of them were quite doable. Glands involved in glandular fever? It couldn’t just be lymph nodes, could it? It seemed it was.
She started to accumulate a decent private virtual score, and her deflated ego, inhaling weakly, began to puff itself up again. Every correct answer was a right hook, a slap in the face, a punch on the nose of ignorance. And the final one seemed so easy, she just blurted it out. The broad group of organisms that produce mycotoxins? ‘Fungus!’ she cried out with jubilance: all that reading about the Cambrian era had paid off.
‘Oh well done, Sofs,’ Hugo said, genuinely impressed. She realised from his expression she’d almost pipped him to the post.
They never heard the answer to the final one.
A nineteenth-century orchestral instrument typically with seven pedals? The gong sounded, and almost instantaneously, the front doorbell rang. No matter: she would get there. It was art and recreation, including music, next.
Hugo grabbed his overcoat, briefcase and new holdall and lined himself up behind the front door, checking his pockets for his wallet and his phone.
‘Hope everything goes OK, Sofs. Tim and Flo’ll have a great time.’
‘When exactly is the flight tomorrow?’ she had to ask.
‘Er… somewhere around twelve I’m pretty sure.’ He scratched his head. For the first time, she saw through his previously likable vagueness. Who forgot flight details, when being sponsored to travel transatlantic business class?
‘Well, enjoy yourself,’ she said, reaching up to jab an emotionless kiss upon his chin. ‘Have a great few days.’
‘You too, Sofs.’ He seemed lost for final words and instead opened the front door to the taxi driver to demonstrate his readiness. ‘See you in five days’ time,’ he said, squeezing her awkwardly with his forearms while still holding his two bags.
She watched him fold himself into the back seat, pulling in handles and bits of belt after himself, then went back inside and closed the door behind her with a metallic crunch.
As for her plans for the weekend? He hadn’t asked her, and she needn’t tell.
Eighteen
Thursday, 31 March 2016, PM
Isaac’s rucksack was stuffed to bursting point, so distended that the zip was puckered on each side, and the whole thing resembled a pair of giant, wrinkled lips. Sighing, Sofia squeezed it between her knees to reduce the pressure and teased the teeth over stray bits of fake fur and feather to release three small teddy bears, a felt penguin and a floppy goat.
‘You did put some clean socks and pants in here as well, didn’t you, and your pyjamas, like I said?’
Isaac glanced at the pile of clothes half hidden under his bed.
‘Oh, Isaac. You’re going to be at Ben’s for two whole nights, you know. You can’t wear the same pair of pants for all that time.’
He couldn’t quite take it in. ‘I thought Ben’s sleepover was for his birthday night?’
‘You’re staying tonight, just to play with him and help him get things ready. Then tomorrow it’s the party, in the afternoon, and you get to stay all night again after that, and then on Sunday, I’m going to pick you up some time after lunch.’
‘So I can play with him all day today and two days after that?’ Isaac couldn’t quite believe his luck.
‘That’s right. It’s going to be like a little holiday.’
‘Where’s Daddy going to be?’
‘He’s still going to be away, like Florence and Tim. But on Sunday night, we’ll all be back for a big family tea.’
‘Are you going to be at home all by yourself, just you?’
Sofia’s heart sank. She couldn’t have it all crash down, now she had found her nerve. ‘Well, yes I will, my darling, but I’ll be absolutely fine.’
‘You’ll be in the house all by yourself in the dark.’ Isaac had a horror of being left alone at night.
‘It’s fine, Isaac. When you’re a grown-up, you don’t mind it quite the same.’
His face was a picture of crestfallen concern. She could see the vicarious suffering the situation would create in his five-year-old imagination, as she was eaten alive by wolves and snakes while he tossed and turned in a strange bed.
‘Actually, Isaac…’ she wondered just how much to tell, ‘you don’t need to worry about me one bit, because I’m only going to be by myself for one tiny part of this evening, and then I’m going to meet up with some old friends to do some camping and climbing, like we used to do before. So, all the time you’re with Ben, I’ll be all together with my friends inside a tent. Just like Flo and Tim are, but in a different place.’
‘Climbing?’ He looked surprised for a moment, then shook his curly fringe just once, as if to dismiss his doubt. ‘OK. Can we go now?’
‘We’ve still got to squeeze your clothes into that bag and wrap up Ben’s present.’
‘Can I give it to him today?’
‘I guess so, but he might not be allowed to open it early.’
‘Can I April Fool him? Can I April Fool him today?’
‘Well, it’s not really April Fool’s day ’til tomorrow.’
‘I want to wrap up some air and surprise him cos there’s nothing inside.’
‘Oh, Isaac.’ She laughed. ‘That sounds a bit mean.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll tell him he’s having his real present tomorrow.’
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s hurry up and get it wrapped or it’ll be tomorrow by the time we actually get there.’
It was in fact only half-past two when they pulled up at the Laymans’ house. Freya had never known Sofia to be on time before and was still clearing a space on Ben’s bedroom floor to put down the mattress for the birthday guest. She waved from the window as they pulled into the drive.
Ben shot past as she opened the front door, hauling Isaac and his rucksack in as if rescuing a drowning swimmer, or catching a bag of letters thrown from a postal train. They jumped about in mutual ecstasy for three or four seconds before galumphing up the stairs, running their fingers joyfully along the well-worn paint.
‘Good luck,’ said Sofia, pulling a face. ‘Sure you don’t mind?’
‘It’s easier when he’s got a friend over, actually. Saves me having to entertain him every second of the day.’
‘Call me, if there’s anything at all,’ Sofia said, hoping she wouldn’t. ‘He should be absolutely fine, it’s just… er… can he have the landing light on when he goes to sleep? He’s absolutely freaked out by the dark.’
‘Don’t worry. Ben’s the same. We’ll have it lit up like an operating theatre. He’ll have a great time. Cup of tea before you go?’
‘I won’t actually. Bits and bobs to sort out,’ she explained feebly. ‘May as well get on with it while everyone’s away.’
‘Not throwing any wild parties then, while you have the chance?’
No, no wild parties, she thought. Nothing like that.
Freya had her number. She’d be easily contactable if anything went wrong.
‘Oh, and this is for Ben,’ Sofia remembered. ‘It’s just a kit thing. I’m hoping he hasn’t got anything like it already.’
‘He’ll love it, I’m sure. Anything that involves totally ignoring the instructions and sticking lots of random things together is right up his street. It’ll keep them busy while I’m sorting out the party food.’
Sofia was torn.
‘Don’t worry, Mum’s coming round – I’ll have plenty of help.’
She succumbed to the stronger unmaternal pull to get away. ‘Isaac!’ she called up the stairs. ‘I’m going now.’
There were giggles and scuffles and something made a thump.
‘Isaac! Come on. Come down and say goodbye.’
He tumbled down dutifully and put his arms round her, already turning his head round to get back to the game.
‘Have a brilliant time, darling. I’ll ring you when it’s bedtime. And don’t fret about anyone else. We’ll all be absolutely fine. Be good!’
‘Bye, Mummy.’
‘See you on Sunday.’
She needn’t have worried. He’d already forgotten everything.
*
She barely made it onto the 3pm train, despite the careful planning and sudden absence of any need to consider anyone but herself. At the last moment, she had decided to take a taxi not the car, leaving the Citroen as a public marker on the drive. It was 2.59pm when she swung herself gratefully onto the carpeted seat, not minding the synthetic smell of polyester and ashes, or the shiny grey patches of undefined residue under her thighs, her heart beating with her exertions and what she was about to do.
She used the first fifteen minutes to calm herself. It wasn’t a crime, a weekend away. For Annie, Bea and Kay, it was a regular entitlement. They toured the country calling on immobile child-bound friends, stopping for suppers and Sunday dinners, clothing events and festivals. She was snatching just two nights away alone, for the first time, so far as she remembered, in as many decades. The daring of it was the travelling back in time, trying to slot back into that youthful configuration, span the chasm of the years with airy confidence, find her former carefree self before it was too late. But she must do it. Maalik had said she must. Maalik who had never graduated with his high school friends or been to university. Maalik who had learned to drive a clutch-less car, negotiate his way across the globe and navigate by moon and stars, all without sitting down inside and reading books.
She did resume her formal study during the middle leg. This time the carriage was packed, warmed with the overintimate odours of human respiration and digestion, and she took refuge in her headphones and her mobile phone. Music was an obvious place to start in such an environment. The other aspects of art and recreation – dance, drama, design and sport, the only remaining categories she had in fact to do, could wait until next week.
Classical wasn’t a problem. Trained in all the middle-class pursuits, she knew her Beethoven piano sonatas from her Bach preludes and fugues, and had performed perfectly at Prize Day when she was Florence’s age. In fact, she’d already jotted the major musical eras onto her cards. Popular music was, however, her pub quiz round nadir. She knew what she liked – danced to it unselfconsciously in her partying days, shouting out the choruses by heart and waving her willowy arms in synchrony with her girlfriends – but ask her the name of a lead singer, song or group, and she was clueless, hopeless, bereft of suggestion. For some reason, that kind of information hadn’t stuck.
She decided to start by assessing her existing level of knowledge, trying to identify the female singer on the radio. The voice was tortured, restricted, sultry, hoarse, the lyrics repetitive, straightforwardly suggestive, generically anonymous. She had no idea, not even a small clutch of possible names from which to pick. Perhaps she needed to revisit the despised A–Z of Knowledge book and work her way through the 1000 Number One Singles up to the present day.
She had to change trains again at Leeds, and by then knew she must speak to Isaac, to tie things up cleanly before venturing into the unknown. Contact with Flo and Tim was safely severed – they were on survival training, so far as they were all concerned, and would have no need to phone except in dire emergency. But there mustn’t be an awkward crossover, a conflict of identity, once she had alighted at her final stop. The young man in the corner heard everything she said.
‘Hi, Freya. Everything OK?
‘Brilliant. Can I just have a little word with Isaac please, to say night night?
‘OK.’ Pause while he was extracted from a game or the TV.
‘Hello, my darling. Are you having a good time?
‘I thought I’d catch you early, before you went to bed.
‘Did she? Well, I’ve caught you a long, long time before bedtime then.
‘No, I haven’t meeted them yet. I’m still on the train.’ She smiled as she copied his incorrect grammar. Linguistic overgeneralisation, typical of kids his age, but it made him sound charmingly tiny on the end of the line.
‘Well, there’s one called Bobby, and one called Clara, and lots of other people who’ll all be camping too.
‘Yes, I’ve got it. I’ve got my little tent. And lots of torches, to make it really bright.
‘OK then. Love you. Night night. See you Sunday afternoon.’
She wanted to tell him she didn’t know when she might phone again, and that Freya would tuck him in, but he had already put the phone down and gone back off to play.
*
She walked up from the station, allowing the cool evening air to decontaminate her skin. The path was a plain, thin strip of tarmac following the road in parallel as far as she could see, encroached upon by tangles of broken straw, where damp juice cartons and empty cigarette packets nested in the grass. She walked for twenty minutes, taking in the road signs and the faces of the sheep, who raised their heads and shuffled sideways in the fields as she passed. After a while, she noticed nothing but her rucksack, bouncing against her sweating back, the cluck of pheasants going up to roost, and the pale grey of the kerb, swept by passing sidelights in the reducing light.
What would they notice about her, she wondered? Would they even recognise each other? As she drew closer to the Square and Compass, past the stone houses crouched low behind their hedges, Sofia drew herself up, tossed back her hair and adopted a more confident stride.
She sprang up the steps and pushed open the double doors.
*
She saw them immediately, up against the bar. Bobby, still outlandishly tall and sinewy. Clara, once voluptuously tanned, now all spread out and gone to pastiness and lard.
‘Sofia!’ they gasped with well-prepared expressions of spontaneous excitement. ‘Great to see you! God it’s been so long!’ They’d been wondering who’d be first. Now they hugged and air-kissed her with ecstatic enthusiasm, just as they would have greeted whoever it had been.
‘Still looking amazing, even in your jeans.’ Bobby was in leggings: she was qualified to judge. Sports science and business management degree. Now ran her own chain of gyms. She looked with envy at Sofia’s only lightly altered features: her own carefully bronze-powdered to blend away the blue capillaries and tiny deltas of criss-crossed lines. Clara gathered up her pale bosoms under her forearms and leaned proudly over the bar, oblivious to two thick creases running right up to her neck. She’d made different choices and was content with that.
‘Can’t believe you made it, after all these years,’ she said. Bobby had been at the ten-year reunion. This was Clara’s first one. ‘Where did all that time go?’ the platitudes flowed easily. ‘Feels like yesterday.’
Sofia had the odd sensation of being top of this tree. She leapt up on the bar stool.
‘Another drink, either of you? What are you both having?’
They’d drained two white wine glasses each while she had been walking to the pub, welcome props as they’d manoeuvred through their conversation, delicately re-establishing marital and occupational status, levels of fecundity and other markers of success.
Sofia bought three more large glasses and realised, disbelievingly, as she put them down that the girls were still slightly in awe of her, anxious to impress. At first, she assumed her one-time relationship with ROX’s founder Jim, three meltingly attractive years older than them all, was what gave her some form of superior standing. But as the compliments poured out with the wine, it was clear that what transfixed them still were memories of her sheer vivacity, her throwaway assuredness as she swung herself from hold to hold, her annoying knack of triumphing in end-of-term exams, whilst appearing to spend every second of every revision time outdoors. Sofia’s mistake the last time she had visited a pub had been to say too much. Tonight, she saw that as her former identity remained intact, her best strategy was to say as little as possible and simply smile and sip away as she surveyed the scene.
‘So, when was the last time you guys actually saw each other?’ she asked, laying open the conversation for others to complete.
‘It was literally twenty years ago,’ babbled Clara. ‘I mean we’ve messaged each other and everything, but we haven’t all sat down together properly since 1996. There’s thirteen of us coming: nine of us tonight, including my hubby, who can’t get off work ’til late, and four tomorrow. Can’t wait to see if everyone’s the same or if they’ve changed.’
