Got You Back (31 page)

Later she had asked him what he had meant, and he had said that Pia was a model and that her foremost preoccupation had always been preserving her figure. Now Stephanie felt inadequate in two additional ways. First, his wife had been a model, a woman picked out from the crowd because of her physical perfection, which was never something that was going to make any normal woman feel great, and second, implicit in what he had
said there had been the suggestion — admittedly Pia's suggestion, not Michael's — that childbirth disfigures a woman's body. She had just about managed to stop herself from sharing her paranoia with Michael, knowing that nothing was less attractive than exposing your neediness for reassurance that you were attractive, and she had steered the conversation round to the pleasure and satisfaction that came with having a child and how that made any amount of physical sacrifice worth it. She had felt a bit sorry for Michael by the time she'd finished because she'd got rather carried away and it wasn't his fault that his wife hadn't wanted to have a baby. It had suddenly seemed like the natural thing to do to ask Michael if he would like to come over and spend some time with Finn, and he had agreed readily.

The plan was that Michael would meet her at her office at the end of the day and they would travel home together. Michael and Finn could spend some bonding time together while Stephanie cooked dinner and then Finn, who would be on his best behaviour, would go to bed without moaning and leave them to enjoy each other's company. Now James's voicemail had changed all that.

Stephanie had left him four messages by the time Michael arrived to pick her up. He had obviously turned his phone off, probably precisely to avoid getting a call from her telling him to drop Finn off at Arun's or round at Cassie's. The house phone was going unanswered, which made her think they had stopped by the park on the way home. She had also tried Cassie, of course. She was loath to drag her back from her unexpected afternoon off but she thought that if she explained exactly what the
situation was and promised her another free day instead, she would be sure to understand. Unfortunately she, too, seemed to have anticipated such a call and was unreachable. Now Stephanie had to decide whether to tell Michael that there was a change of plan and let Finn down, or whether she should bite the bullet and introduce her boyfriend to her ex-husband along with her son. In the end she told Michael exactly what was going on and he made the decision for her: they were all adults, Stephanie and James were separated, where was the harm in them all being in the same room together?

By the time their cab was turning into Belsize Avenue Stephanie felt sick. She couldn't imagine how James was going to react to the fact that she was about to turn up with a man in tow, but she was sure he wasn't going to take it lightly. A part of her felt like it would do him good to see that she'd moved on — and that she could attract another man, and a good-looking, successful one at that — but mostly she just wanted this to be a positive experience for Finn.

Before she'd even managed to turn the key in the lock the door swung open and there was James, big smile plastered on his face and his hand outstretched for Michael to shake. Finn must have told him what was happening, she thought gratefully.

‘You must be Michael,’ James said, pumping Michael's arm up and down manfully. ‘Pleased to meet you. Hi, Steph, did you get my message?’

‘Yes,’ she managed to say hesitantly. ‘I've been trying to ring you.’

James stepped back into the house to let them in. He
didn't look as though he was about to leave any time soon.

‘Finn's in the kitchen, Michael,’ he was saying. ‘He's been dying to meet you.’

‘Right,’ Michael said, following him through the house.

God, James was unbelievable. He was acting like he still owned the place, which of course he partly did, but anyway. Michael looked back at her questioningly, and she pulled a face that she hoped said, ‘I have no idea what to do.’

Finn was sitting expectantly at the kitchen table. James waved his hand at him, as if he was a prize exhibit. ‘Finn, this is Michael. Michael, this is Finn.’

‘Hi, Finn,’ Michael said, and held out his hand. Finn, who had never shaken hands with anyone before, stared at him suspiciously and left his hand hanging in mid-air. His face, Stephanie thought, looked as if it had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. As did James's, come to think of it.

‘Shake hands with Michael,’ James said, and Finn took Michael's hand limply. He had been eating a Marmite and cheese sandwich when they'd come in and Stephanie noticed that Michael surreptitiously (or so he thought) wiped his hand on the leg of his combat trousers after Finn let go of it. Michael, she knew, wasn't very experienced with children and she felt sorry for him, trying to find a way into conversation with her son. It would be so much easier if James would fuck off and leave them to it, but she knew what he was like: he was going to ruin it for all of them, sitting in the kitchen, monopolizing Finn's company, making little digs at Michael and showing off
about how marvellous and successful he was, although she wasn't entirely sure how true that last one was any more.

In fact, she wasn't at all sure how James was surviving at the moment. She made a mental note that she must sit down with him and discuss finances; it was just that she couldn't face being on her own with him any more than was necessary, and they could hardly have that kind of a conversation in front of Finn. Anyway, he'd be showing off about something because that was what he did. So, if it wasn't work it would be his prowess on the golf course or maybe his ability to fool two women into loving him at the same time.

Her train of thought stopped abruptly as she noticed that James had stood up from the table where he had been sitting opposite Finn and Michael. ‘Well,’ he said jovially, ‘I'd better go and leave you to get acquainted.’

He held out his hand and subjected Michael to another pumping. It was like being at a Masons’ meeting, Stephanie thought, and she nearly laughed. All they needed were the rubber gloves and the feather dusters. Or was it pinnies?

‘Nice to meet you, Michael,’ James was saying again. ‘I'm sure it won't be the last time. Finn, behave yourself. Steph, see you soon. I'll let myself out.’

And he was gone. Just like that.

‘I thought you said he was difficult,’ Michael said later, when they were enjoying a glass of wine on the sofa after Finn had gone to bed.

‘He is. I don't know what came over him.’

In the end the whole thing had been a great success.

Michael, no animal lover, had watched as Finn put David into the closed part of his hutch for the night and had managed to look interested. They had bonded a bit over football, although some of what Michael had said about Leeds United's need for a new left-winger had gone over Finn's head and he'd started to yawn a little.

Finn, no doubt led by the mood his father had seemed to be in, had been in ‘good Finn’ mode, had been polite and hadn't talked incessantly or with his mouth full of carrots. He had dutifully gone off to bed at eight thirty, saying, ‘Nice to meet you,’ exactly as James had done, and had remained there ever since.

Stephanie snuggled up to Michael. As evenings went on which you introduced your new boyfriend to your son while your soon-to-be-ex-husband looked on, it had gone pretty well.

43

There was something cathartic about wielding a sledgehammer, something manly, James thought, although he felt as if he was in danger of suffering a cardiac arrest at any moment. The walls of the extension were proving to be far more solid than he had imagined. Just his luck that he must have employed the services of the only local builder to have scruples about building structures made to last. The sledgehammer was barely making a dent and already he was sweating enough for four men.

James had arrived in Lower Shippingham late the previous night and had slept in the flat above the surgery. He had left Stephanie's house (as he now thought of it) in a bit of an emotional turmoil. He had felt sick about the fact that Michael was such a textbook good-looking bloke, that he was so painstakingly trendy — something which James had never been interested in being and, indeed, wouldn't have known where to start if he had been, but it seemed like a quality Stephanie, with her love of fashion, might find attractive — and that he had a job that not only sounded impressive but also cool. He wasn't sure how he could compete with a man like that, someone so fundamentally different from himself. He realized that, deep down, once he had been able to acknowledge to himself that Stephanie might indeed have hooked up with another man, he had comforted himself with the thought
that that man might be fat or short or both, and maybe work in accounting or as a data systems analyst. Maybe have halitosis — although for all he knew Michael might have a breath problem: he hadn't got close enough to find out. Somehow he didn't look the type, though. The fact that Michael was artistic was the blow that had hurt him the most. James didn't have an artistic bone in his body.

On the other hand, he had felt elated that he had handled himself so well — Steph had definitely been impressed. He knew she would be feeling grateful to him for being so… what? Adult?… about it all, that she would be thinking how much he had moved on. His instincts had all been telling him to stay, not to leave the two of them together, that to do so would be giving up. But his rational head, the one he valued the most, had insisted that he do the grown-up thing.

If he was ever going to win Stephanie back — and that was feeling like a distinctly remote prospect these days — he had to let her see for herself that Michael wasn't the man for her. This meant, of course, that he had to take the not-inconsiderable risk that she might in fact come to realize that Michael actually
was
the man for her, but it was a risk he had to take. And as he had closed the front door behind him and had fought off the urge to spend the night hiding in the bushes and watching them through the windows, he had felt unbelievably proud of himself. All he could do now was behave well, do the right thing and hope that one day she would take him back. Everything else was out of his hands.

Buoyed up with this feeling, he had decided he had to
take the bull by the horns and sort out his life. He had got straight on a train to Lincoln. On the way he had remembered Jack Shirley, a lad whose cat he had once revived after it had fallen out of a tree. Jack had scooped the cat up and had run to the surgery, a gibbering wreck. Once the cat had recovered, Jack had admitted tearfully that, as an impoverished student, he couldn't afford to pay the bill. He had offered to work off the debt somehow but James, who had been touched by the boy's affection for his pet, had refused the offer. Jack, overcome with gratitude, had insisted that James take his number in case he thought of anything he could do at a later date, and James had immediately forgotten all about it. Now Jack was only too happy to be here helping out and had roped in his brother, Sean, who was staying with him for a few days too. James, who had been quoted two thousand pounds by a firm of builders, was delighted.

James's plan was this. It would take them two days to tear down the extension and make good the original outside wall of the house, he had calculated. Assuming, of course, that those two days started at seven in the morning and ended at ten in the evening. He had stocked up on Pot Rice and cans of Diet Coke and had no intention of setting foot on the streets of Lower Shippingham any more than was necessary. By the third morning he would be on his way back to London, and the surgery would be on the books of a local estate agency. Once the place was sold, James would use the money to buy a one-bedroom flat in London near to both Finn and his work, and begin his slow ascent back up the ladder.

With the help of Jack and Sean he had disconnected
the services in a slightly cavalier fashion. They were nice boys, hard-working and funny and both too interested in girls and motorbikes and beer to have absorbed the village gossip about James's fall from grace. Their conversation consisted chiefly of tales of excessive nights out, interspersed with information about bands he'd never heard of, and which got you pissed more quickly — Snakebite or vodka shots. It was quite relaxing, listening to them prattling on about nothing in particular. It reminded him of what his life had been like at their age: uncomplicated and full of possibilities. He wanted to tell them not to fuck it up, to think before they acted and to learn to value what they had, but he knew they would just think he was a dull old out-of-touch man, lecturing them, and it would go straight over their heads. That was the thing. You could only learn from your own experience. No one else's mistakes resonated with you. You had to make your own. By lunchtime they had managed to take down most of one of the walls, and James sent the boys off for a quick lunch at the pub while he boiled a kettle for his chicken chow mein. He looked around the tiny kitchen, which was just off reception. Funny to think he had spent so many years of his life here. He had loved having his own practice. He had always thought that what he liked was the status it gave him, the fact that he was a recognized pillar of the community, but now it occurred to him that what he had really enjoyed was being the boss of his own little empire, the freedom that came with working for yourself, the camaraderie of the little team you had carefully put together. Except for Sally. Sally had clearly been a mistake. And, to be fair, Simon and Malcolm hadn't
turned out to be so great in the end either. It was exciting thinking about starting again one day, taking your time and getting it right. He decided he would look on it as a challenge. A fresh start.

He boxed up the few bits and pieces that he hadn't cleared out when he'd first left, ready to go to the dump. Then he sat and waited for the boys to return, which they did after thirty-five minutes, Sean carrying a pint of lager in a glass from the pub for him. By seven fifteen that evening the whole structure was down and they loaded up the boy's dad's van with the rubble and the three of them piled in and took it to the tip a few miles up the road. James felt exhausted. He was too old for all this physical stuff.