Bachelor Boys (21 page)

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Authors: Kate Saunders

BOOK: Bachelor Boys
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She was spellbound, her damp eyes pinned to his face. I remembered that one of Jonah's degrees was in English literature. He spoke the words beautifully, in absolute belief. I'd never imagined that old Jonah Salmon could be so charming and kind, even gallant. It occurred to me that I must tell Betsy about this. I began to see why she was so proud of him. I remembered Phoebe saying, “Most mothers don't care about their sons being rich or successful—they just want them to grow into men with good hearts.”
“Tennyson,” Jonah said. “
In Memoriam
. The ultimate newsletter from the planet of the bereaved.” He took one of the books from the shelf. It was a complete Tennyson—they were all, I saw now, books of poetry. He gave it to Hazel. “Keep it as long as you want.”
Hazel smiled. She murmured, “Thanks. But I wish you'd read it to me. You do it so well.”
“Oh, I know reams of it by heart,” Jonah said. “Look, you've finished your tea. If you're ready for alcohol, the pub by the crossing's really nice—and I'm just coming off shift.”
 
I'd done it again. I'd made a match without trying. There was that look of frozen wonder on their two faces, like rabbits caught in headlights. Hazel's hand brushed Jonah's, and a little color crept back into her gray
lips. I left them together in the pub, passing the book between them, murmuring Tennyson at each other. Though they both begged me to stay, my every instinct told me that three had suddenly become a crowd. I was alone again, marveling at my own unconscious powers, and wondering if I'd ever find someone for myself.
N
ow, as the song says, we come to the tragic bit. I was in the outer office, arguing about something or other with Shay, when Betsy put her head round the door.
“Phoebe's on the phone. She says it's urgent.”
I should have seen it coming, but Phoebe regarded all kinds of nonurgent things (thank-you cards, fresh nutmeg) as urgent, and I didn't rush to take the call.
“Hi, Phoebe.”
“Cassie, something awful's happened.” Her voice was a shadow of itself, and full of wretchedness. “Fritz and Annabel have split up.”
“Oh shit.” I sat down heavily. “When? Why?”
“To tell the truth, Fritz dumped her. He's taken up with that woman you tried to kill when you were at school. He's been very naughty indeed, and I'm extremely cross with him. You have to come over.”
“Me? What can I do?”
“I'm longing to talk to someone who isn't one of my sons, and Sue doesn't come in today.” (Sue was her Macmillan nurse; Phoebe needed more care lately.) “I thought everything was going so well—and now our plans are in ruins.”
“I can't get away till about eight this evening,” I said. “But I'll come as soon as I've finished. I'll take a taxi.”
Naturally, I called Annabel at once (with Betsy, Shay and Puffin crowded round me, listening intently). She was not at work—I got a
strange, rude man, who told me she wasn't coming in today. I tried her home, and got her answering service.
This was ominous. When a breakup was bad, Annabel couldn't talk to anyone for days. I would have to wait until she called me in floods of tears. Poor thing—she'd only just shelled out for all that kipper-begging underwear.
I can honestly say, with my hand on my heart, that I was deeply and sincerely sorry for her. Forget my little canker of jealousy for a moment. My main emotion was indignation. Phoebe loved Annabel, and had been so happy to think of her as a daughter-in-law. How could Fritz do this to either of them? Nasty, selfish, callous Fritz. He had broken the hearts of the two women I loved best in all the world. I pictured him in bed with Peason, and sincerely wished his cock would fall off.
 
I didn't get to Phoebe's until after nine. Ben opened the door. He was somber, and he clung to me when I kissed him.
“Thanks for coming—but Mum's asleep. She got so tired, I thought I'd better take her up to bed.”
“She's okay, though, isn't she?”
“More or less. Have you eaten yet?”
“No. I'm starving.”
“Good, because I made my first cauliflower cheese this afternoon.” Ben headed for the door to the basement. “I need someone to appreciate it—and I'm not giving any to that cheating Don Quixote brother of mine.”
“I think you might mean Don Juan,” I hinted.
“Whatever.” Ben was on his dignity. “He's done shitty things before—but this stinks. I can't believe he could do this to a girl like Annabel.”
The basement was still fairly clean, but beginning to slide back into a state of untidiness. There was an overflowing laundry basket on the sofa, and a large backlog of dirty pans in the sink. Ben took a heap of old newspapers off the table and threw them on top of the laundry. He opened the oven and carefully, almost reverently, took out a very decent-looking dish of cauliflower cheese.
“That smells lovely.” I tried not to sound too surprised that the hapless Ben had managed to cook something edible.
“Mum's giving me cooking lessons,” Ben said.
“Really? I didn't know she was still—I mean, isn't she too tired for cooking?”
“I move the sofa to the kitchen,” he explained. “Mum lies there watching me, and talks me through it step by step. She teaches me something new every day. She's worried that I won't be able to look after myself.”
“Oh God.” At a time like this, I didn't need to be reminded about Phoebe's fears for her boys. “She must've been gutted about Fritz and Annabel.”
“Yes, she is—but she won't hear a word against that lying shit. She keeps making excuses for him.”
I opened a bottle of wine and poured us both glasses. We sat down. Ben glowered Byronically, and forked in cauliflower cheese as if it had done him an injury.
I asked, “When did it happen?”
“Last night. I wasn't there, unfortunately. Or I would've chinned him.”
“Oh Ben—what's got into him?”
“I don't know.”
“He's been so nice lately!”
“The strain was too much for him,” Ben said. “I think he's scared of getting too close to a woman. I sometimes think he deliberately goes for bitches, in case he finds himself accidentally falling for someone nice.”
“I could have sworn he was in love with Annabel,” I said forlornly. “So what happened, exactly? Take me through it.”
Ben wiped his plate with a piece of bread. “Before he went to work last night, he told Annabel to wait up for him. I was there for that bit. Then I went out—Elspeth was working late, and Neil had a spare seat for the LSO at the Barbican.”
“And?”
“It was absolutely superb. I've never heard Brahms done better.”
“Stick to the plot, Ben.”
“Sorry. When I got back, Annabel was here on her own, taking her
things out of the bathroom. She wasn't crying, or making a fuss—or screeching and breaking stuff, like the normal sort of Fritz-girlfriend. I asked her what was up, and she said Fritz had told her it was over. That was all. I told Mum this morning.”
“What did Fritz say?”
“Haven't seen him. I expect he stayed with that Peason woman.”
“Oh God. She's such a cow.”
“I tried to tell Annabel she was better off without him,” Ben said darkly, “but she didn't seem to be listening. She wasn't ready to hear it.”
Poor, poor Annabel. I couldn't help blaming myself. I should have warned her about Fritz. But we had all wanted to believe he had changed.
Ben and I spent the rest of the evening going over the same ground. Because I felt responsible, I made us tea and tackled some of the washing-up. At around eleven, when I was thinking of going home, the basement door slammed and Fritz came in.
He smiled ferociously when he saw our disapproving faces.
“Well, Grimble. What a nice surprise. I take it you've heard about the slight upheaval in my sex life?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Spare me the comments, there's a good girl. Just put the key words on a postcard.”
Ben scowled. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I live here, Ben. I popped back to fetch a few of my things.”
“You're going back to that woman, I suppose.”
“You suppose exactly right. She has a very comfortable flat in St. John's Wood.” Fritz vanished into his bedroom, emerging a moment later with an armful of clothes. “I'm assuming she won't be welcome here.”
“Too right she won't,” Ben said. “She's a cow.”
Fritz's grin became wolfish. “I wouldn't know about that.”
“You shit,” I blurted out. “How could you do this to Annabel?”
For a fraction of a second, he looked uncomfortable. “There isn't a kind way to send someone to Potters Bar. I was trying to make it quick and clean.”
Ben stood up. “She was devastated.”
“She'll get over me.”
“So was Mum.”
“Sorry,” Fritz said. “I can't regulate my sex life to please my mother. You'll understand when you go through puberty.”
Ben was breathing hard. “You couldn't keep it in your trousers for a second, could you?”
Fritz looked him up and down, chuckling scornfully. Ben's scowl deepened. His hands contracted into fists.
“Well, there you have it,” Fritz said. “Alas, the still small voice of my conscience can't make itself heard above the deafening roar of my penis.”
“This isn't funny,” Ben said. “Annabel's feelings aren't a joke. She's in love with you, you bastard.”
“I told you, she'll get over me,” Fritz said. “They always do.”
“Yes, but she's not one of your usual tarts—she's about a million times better.”
“Well, you go out with her yourself, then,” Fritz said. “You're obviously gagging to.”
Ben let out a strangled bellow and punched Fritz on the chin.
It wasn't a good punch—Fritz moved his head, and it ended up as a bungled slap. But it astonished us all. Ben had never got as far as punching his brother. He stared at Fritz, and at his reddening knuckles, in awed disbelief.
Fritz said, “Don't do that again.”
For a moment I was frightened. They stood at bay with their teeth bared. The whole room was electric with hostility.
Ben muttered something and bolted. I heard the slam of the front door, followed by the roar of the car starting.
“Oh shit,” Fritz said. He suddenly looked very tired. “He's taken the car. I'll have to call a taxi.”
He was exhausted and wretched. Superficially, he seemed suddenly older, with gray hairs at his temples and lines around his eyes. And yet I found myself thinking how young he was, and feeling nothing but tenderness for him. “Fritz, what on earth is going on? You seemed so—everything was going so fantastically!”
He dropped the pile of clothes on to a chair. The aggression had died
right out of him. He was resigned and weary. “Grimble, do me a big favor. Just for a minute, stop treating me like the enemy. I know I'm a fuckup, okay? Let's take it as read and have a cup of tea.”
He switched on the kettle and made us tea. I sat down and drank it with him. I found, as I had found with Matthew, that I couldn't sustain my indignation. Fritz wasn't behaving like a heartless Casanova. He wasn't swaggering. He had lines and gray hairs. For the first time in our lives, he made me feel shy.
I asked, “Are you keeping Peason waiting?”
“She'll survive,” he said shortly. “Have you spoken to Annabel?”
“No. I can't get hold of her.”
He let out a long sigh, not at all like a triumphant lover. “Look, I didn't want to hurt her. She's a darling.”
“I thought you were so happy. Both of you.”
“We made a perfect picture,” Fritz said. “I knew we would. It was just—too easy.”
“It looked like a happy ending,” I said.
“I know. That was the problem. All the way through, I was thinking of how pleased Mum would be. You made that stupid promise to find us nice comfy wives, and I couldn't help seeing that Annabel was perfect for the role. But I couldn't make it work. I'm deeply sorry, Cass—but she's just not the right woman. I couldn't do it. I was at war with myself.”
“Is Peason the right woman?”
There was a brief spark of humor in his eye. “Probably not.”
“You do know she's the embodiment of evil, don't you?”
“I know she's not a nice woman. I don't even particularly like her.”
“You've lost me. I simply don't understand.”
“You would if you were male,” Fritz said. “Even when I thought Felicity was a complete pain, I couldn't stop her getting under my skin and into my bloodstream. She's so sensationally beautiful that my brain turns to mush when I look at her. It's like being possessed. There's no point in struggling. I just have to surrender, body and soul.”
I said, “It's a shame you can't feel that way about someone nice.”
“Isn't it?” Fritz meant this. He wasn't being sarcastic. “God knows I tried.”
I was puzzled. I had intended to be so angry with Fritz, and now I was struggling not to feel sorry for him. Suddenly, the heartless, dashing Alpha Male seemed scared and lost and sad.
He must have noticed my unwilling softening. His tense shoulders sagged. “You're furious with me. To tell the truth, I'm rather furious with myself. I absolutely hate myself for making Annabel cry. The poor little thing thought I'd come home early to have sex with her.”
“Oh no.”
“She was wearing a see-through bra.”
“Oh Fritz, no!” This detail broke my heart.
“When I—you know, when I told her, she looked about six years old. Her face crumpled. And at that moment …” his black eyes burning into me, he squeezed both my hands across the table, “at that moment, I wanted to run and run and never see either of them again. I wanted to run until I dropped dead. I went back to Felicity's because I reckoned she deserved a shit like me.”

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