Out of the Blue (27 page)

“Buggeration!” Iqqy suddenly expostulated as he rummaged through the cosmetics on the counter. “No more powder—that’s all I need! There’s some more downstairs,” he added as he sped to the door. “Hang on a tick, you two.” Sophie and I smiled at each other as she sat down, and then she looked at her script. Here was the chance I’d been seeking to ask her about Jos, but the words almost died on my lips.

“Sophie,” I began nervously. “Can I ask you something?” She nodded. “Well, you remember you said you know my, er…friend, Jos?”

“Yes,” she replied carefully. “Or rather, I know one or two people who know him. Why do you ask?” she enquired.

“Because, well, this is going to sound idiotic really,” I said with an awkward little laugh. My pulse was racing and my mouth felt dry. “But, um, someone I know, er, this, er, friend of mine, she suggested—quite absurdly, of course—that um, Jos might be, or perhaps had, at some stage been…gay.” Sophie was looking at me in a peculiar way, and her face had suddenly flushed red. Oh God, oh God, it was true. He
was
gay, that’s what she’d been hinting at in the Ladies’ that day.

“Gay?” she repeated.

“Yes. Er, have you, er, you know, ever, um, heard anything to that…effect?”

“No!” Sophie exclaimed. “Gay?” she repeated again wonderingly. She emitted a hollow laugh. “Good heavens, no—that’s a new one on me!”

“Oh, so it’s not true, then,” I said. Now I began laughing, and felt my heart flood with relief. “I didn’t for a minute think it
was
true,” I stuttered, “but you know how it is, you hear such silly rumors, I mean, I’m sure there are some people who think
I’m
gay,” I added gaily.

“Oh no,” said Sophie emphatically. “I’d never, ever think that. But no, Faith, to answer your question, I do not think Jos Cartwright is gay.”

“Oh good,” I said. “Great. I mean, really, what an absurd idea!” I laughed loudly. Then there was a few seconds’ silence, in which I could hear the pounding of my heart. “So he doesn’t have a gay past, then?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve never heard anything like that.”

“And how long have your friends known him?”

“Oh, about five years.” So that was that. Now I knew. It had been absolutely horrible asking, but at least she’d said what I wanted to hear. Jos wasn’t gay. Thank God. He
wasn’t
. Of
course
he wasn’t. And now, filled with relief, I smiled at Sophie, but she wasn’t smiling back.

“Faith,” she said seriously as we looked at each other in the mirror. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” I replied.

“Then in that case I hope you won’t mind me sounding just a word of caution. About Jos.” Oh. I felt my revived spirits flag and then droop again. “I mean, I hope it’s all going to work out for you,” she went on. “And I’m sure you find him very charming, as most people do. And although I really don’t want to interfere, I would advise you to be just a little bit…careful.”

“Careful?” I said. I looked at her as her words sank in. Careful? What on earth did she mean? A part of me felt annoyed that she didn’t just say it, that she didn’t just tell me, outright. And I was mustering the courage to ask her, when the door opened and Iqqy ran in.

“OK Sophie,” he said slightly breathlessly as he put down the powder. “In the hot seat, please.” So now I couldn’t ask Sophie to explain what she’d meant about Jos. The moment had passed, and I was annoyed. But then I was glad, yes, I admit it, I was glad, because I didn’t really want to know. Still, all that morning I kept turning over the possibilities in my mind.

“I just can’t imagine what Sophie’s getting at,” I said to Lily when I phoned her after lunch to report.

“I think it makes him more mysterious,” she replied. “Maybe he’s into drugs,” she speculated. “You know, nasal refreshment. Does he have a runny nose?”

“No.”

“Maybe he’s got a drinking problem?”

“I’d have seen it by now.”

“Maybe he’s got a criminal record,” she suggested. “Or dodgy connections. Does he talk about his ‘associates’ a lot?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe he’s got perverted sexual tastes? Spotted any chains or whips?”

“No.”

“Maybe he likes frocks,” she went on.

“I don’t think so!” I laughed.

“Maybe he’s already married,” she suggested.

“No.”

“Mad wife in the attic?”

“I haven’t heard any screaming.”

“Well then, Faith, relax. I really wouldn’t worry,” she added expansively. “So far the only thing he’s done wrong, in your view, is to flirt with a man. But now we know he’s definitely not gay I wouldn’t get too worked up about that. I mean, the world of opera is very lovey-dovey. You’ve got to take that into account. I suspect Jos is just a social chameleon,” she went on, “he adapts to his environment—that’s no crime.”

“But why would Sophie warn me about him?” I said. “That’s what I don’t understand.”

“Well, maybe she’s after him herself.”

“I’m sure she’s not,” I said. “Not only do I get the feeling she doesn’t really like him, she’s got a chap called Alex.”

“Maybe he’s a cannibal,” mused Lily facetiously. “Or a Tory-voter.”

“Or maybe he’s an alien,” I said. “Oh Lily, you’re right. I’m just being neurotic, because he’s perfect in every other way.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “he is. So why go looking for trouble? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Jos is attractive, he’s talented, he’s sexy and he’s fun. He’s also considerate, solvent, and he’s very nice to your kids.”

Lily’s right. He is. In fact he’s wonderful to them. It’s really touching. He can’t do enough for them. On Saturday, for example, it was Katie’s fifteenth birthday, and Jos arrived with this enormous cake. And he gave her Anthony Clare’s new book, which was not just signed but also inscribed to her by the author. When she read the flyleaf, “To Katie, from one psychiatrist to another”, I thought her eyes would pop out of her head.

“Wow! Thanks, Jos, that’s
really
nice.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Now, have you had many cards?”

Suddenly we heard the bang of the letterbox and Graham flew, barking, to the mat. On it were five birthday cards for Katie, a few letters for Matt and a single brown envelope for me. I looked at it, shuddered, and put it straight on top of the boiler along with all the other unopened brown ones. Peter could take care of those ones the next time he came round. Then the phone rang—it was my mum. She was calling from Budapest on her mobile phone. Katie talked to her for a couple of minutes and then she shouted to Matt to come.

“Granny wants to talk to you—as usual. But you’ll have to yell, the line’s bad.” Once again I thought how nice it is, the way my mother’s bonding with Matt. In fact she talks to him more than anyone else these days. They seem to chat for hours. And as Katie, Jos and I sat in the garden in the sunshine, snippets of their conversation floated out. “Bolivia…government…Amazon…” I heard him say. Of course, he was very interested in Latin America. “Bears…predator…poached…” And now he sounded slightly agitated. He and Granny were obviously having some engrossing discussion about bear conservation in Hungary. And you know, I’m so pleased to think that at long last Matt’s really coming out of his shell. That’s why he got rid of all his computer games, because he realized he’d outgrown them and was ready to interact with the grown-up world.

“New technology…no,” I heard him say. Maybe he’s going to be a journalist, I thought happily, given his new passion for current affairs. Then he came and joined us in the garden as we had coffee and cake in the warm summer sun. Katie and Jos were discussing Wagner while Graham was sitting by the flowerbed, snapping at bees.

“Graham!” I said. “If you get stung, don’t come running to me.”

“At least he’ll stop doing it then,” said Katie. “It’ll be a kind of Aversion Therapy. He’ll learn to associate the sting with the bees and stop.”

“Are you sure he’s that rational?” said Jos.

While this conversation was going on Matt had whipped out his brand new laptop and was now tapping away, with a slightly anxious expression on his face.

“I wish we could do a little Aversion Therapy on you, Matt,” I joked, “to stop you using your computer so much. Look, as it’s Katie’s birthday do you think you could give it a little rest?”

“OK, Mum,” he agreed. As he reluctantly closed the lid, I suddenly realized that I’d never seen the computer before.

“Matt,” I said carefully, “that laptop. Is it new?” He nodded. “Where did you get it?” I enquired.

“Er, nowhere,” he replied.

“What do you mean, nowhere?”

“Honestly, Mum. Nowhere.” But his face had flushed bright red.

“Matt,” I said as I shaded my eyes against the sun, “please would you tell me where you got that laptop?”

“Erm, I, er, can’t remember.”

“Darling,” I said, “I happen to know that laptops are very expensive and your pocket money is only ten pounds a week. So I’d like you to tell me how you got it.” By now Matt was stuttering and fidgeting, and I almost felt sorry for him. But I felt disappointed too, because I’ve always taught my kids to tell the truth.

“Matt…” I tried again, keeping my voice low and calm because I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of Jos. “Matt, please just tell me how you’ve come to own such an expensive machine. Dad didn’t buy it for you, did he?” He shook his head and blushed again. And then I got it. Of course. It was from Andie. How slow of me. And how
outrageous
of her. She’d been bribing the children again. Anything to get them on her side. But Matt was too embarrassed to tell me, because he knew that I’d feel hurt.

“It’s from Andie, isn’t it?” I said. He was silent. But I wasn’t going to let it go. “Is it from Andie?” I repeated. Matt shook his head. “Please tell me who it
is
from, then.”

“No,” he said. “I can’t.”

“Why ever not?” I enquired.

“Because it’s private,” he explained. “I’m sorry, Mum,” he said as he fiddled with his cuffs, “but I really can’t say.”

“Well, I’m your mother, Matt, and I don’t want you to have a big secret like this from me.” He looked at me, then stared at the ground, and I could see that the tops of his ears were bright red. I was beginning to feel quite cross by now, but then I was struck by a terrible thought.

“Matt,” I said. “I hope you came by it honestly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hope you didn’t…no, you wouldn’t do that, would you? You’d never steal anything.”

“No, of
course
not!” he exclaimed, looking shocked. “Oh Mum, I wish you wouldn’t ask.”

“Matt,” I tried again. “You are only twelve years old, yet here you are with a very expensive new computer and you refuse to say who it’s from. But I really would like to know. Now, I think Andie gave it to you, and if she did, you must return it, because I will not have her bribing you like this.”

“Honestly, Mum. She
didn’t
give it to me. I wish you’d just
believe
me.”

“Well then, who on earth
did?
”

“I can’t say, Mum,” Matt whined. “I really can’t.” Oh God, he looked close to tears.

“Darling,” I said patiently. “If Andie didn’t, and Dad didn’t, and I didn’t, then who did?” He didn’t reply.

“Matt,” I said. “I think I’m about to get cross. Please tell me.” There was an ominous silence.

And then Jos said: “Actually, it was me.” I looked at Matt. He looked as shocked as I felt.

“I was…updating my computer system,” Jos explained, “and I realized that the laptop I had wasn’t…quite what I needed any more. So, I offered it to Matt.”

“Oh,” I said, dumbfounded. “But that’s a very expensive thing.”

“Well, their second-hand value…isn’t much,” he explained with a shrug. “And I thought he might…find it useful.”

“Is this true, Matt?” I said. He looked at me blankly and said nothing. It obviously was.

“Why didn’t you tell me then, Jos?” I said. “I don’t really understand.”

“Well, because I thought you’d disapprove,” he explained. “Because if you don’t want Andie giving the children expensive things, then that rule would also apply to me. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to bribe your kids. So Matt and I agreed that we wouldn’t say. I’m sorry if it’s caused an argument,” he added. “That’s the last thing on earth I wanted.”

“Matt,” I said, swallowing hard. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for doubting your word. And you’re a very,
very
lucky boy.” Matt nodded mutely. “And, Jos,” I went on, “thank you. It was incredibly kind of you to give him that.” And now I found myself wondering how I could ever have doubted him. He was such a wonderfully generous and thoughtful man. I reached for his hand and squeezed it gratefully, aware that my eyes had filled with tears.

July

Highs and lows. That’s what it’s about. The weather, I mean. And at the moment we’re on a high. The temperature’s rising and the skies are deep blue, without even a wisp of cloud. At night the sky glows crimson; the barometer is fixed on fair. The little woman has emerged from my weather house, and the seaweed on my desk is bone dry. In short, it’s hot. All the signs, technical and natural, point to that one simple fact. It’s hot. It’s very hot. And it’s getting hotter by the day.

“Phew,” said Jos. He was standing in my bath, in a T-shirt and shorts, making pencil marks on the walls. He paused, then drew his hand across his brow. “It’s a bit on the warm side, what?”

“Mmm,” I said dreamily, “it is.” Jos’s right arm swung back and forth like a metronome as he sketched the curving fronds of a palm. A few deft strokes and a shoreline appeared, and then, in the foreground, a shell.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Mystery location,” he replied, tapping the side of his nose.

“Go on, please tell me,” I said.

“All right, it’s Parrot Cay on the Turks and Caicos. It’s my favorite place in the world. And when this mural’s finished, Faith, I’m going to go there with you.”

“When will that be?” I smiled.

“Around Christmas time, I’d say. Christ, it’s hot,” he sighed as he sketched a solitary bird into the sky. “I guess this is what’s known as a warm front.”

“Nope. It’s an anti-cyclone.”

“A what?”

“An area of high pressure, that’s all. Anti-cyclones create calm, dry weather, unlike depressions which bring wind and rain. And anti-cyclones are stable,” I explained. “They can sit in the same place for days.”

“Which presumably means this is going to last.”

“Yes,” I said, “it is. In fact it’s shaping up to be a serious heatwave, which makes for boring weather reports. ‘Good morning everyone’, I say. ‘And it’s going to be another very hot and sunny day, so put a hat on the baby, keep the dog inside, and slap on that factor fifteen!’ I find fine weather dull,” I added ruefully, “because there’s not really much I can say.”

“Well, fine weather’s fine by me,” said Jos as he clambered out of the bath. “The hotter the better, I say. Look at that sky!” he added, glancing out of the window. “It’s like a Hockney or an Yves Klein. Why don’t we go down to the coast?” he suggested as he leaned back and squinted at his work. “We could take the kids,” he said.

“And Graham.”

“Yes,” he sighed as he wiped the back of his neck. “But only if he’s nice to me.”

“Do you hear that, darling?” I said to Graham, who was lying doggo by the door. “If you’re nice to Jos and promise not to bite him, he’ll take you to the seaside for the day.” Graham raised a cynical eyebrow, then closed his eyes with a disgruntled sigh.

“Why don’t we go next weekend?” said Jos. “We could go down to Hastings or Rye.”

“The fifteenth?” I said. “That’s school speech day. I’ve got to go down to Kent.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” he suggested. “To give you moral support?”

“I…well,” I was slightly taken aback. “That’s very sweet of you, Jos,” I said carefully, “but I’d better discuss it with Peter first.”

So that evening I called him. I realized, as I dialled his number, that I’d never phoned Peter at his flat. Now, as I heard the ringing tone, I tried to imagine what it was like. The children had tactfully refrained from telling me, and I hadn’t wanted to ask. Was the interior spartan, I wondered, or had it been tastefully done? Were there lots of mod cons in the kitchen? And what were his neighbors like?

“Hel-lo?” Suddenly I heard Andie’s slow, transatlantic tones and felt a vicious stab of pain. “Hel-lo?” she repeated. “Who is this?” I felt my face begin to burn.

“It’s Peter’s wife,” I said with cross crispness. “May I speak to my husband, please?” Then I was instantly furious with myself for having accidentally asked her permission.

“Hu-un,” I heard her call in her cigarettey drawl, “it’s for yo-ou.” By now my heart was banging so loudly I thought Peter would hear it down the line. Knowing he was involved with Andie was one thing. Hearing her voice was quite another. How
stupid
of me to have rung him at home when there was a high chance that she’d be there.

“Faith!” Peter exclaimed warmly. His friendly tone took me by surprise. “How are you?”

“I’m…OK,” I replied.

“You sound a bit pissed off.”

“No. Not at all,” I said.

“Just phoning for a nice little chat, are you?”

“No,” I said briskly. “I’m not. I’m phoning to ask if you’re coming to school speech day. It’s on the fifteenth.”

“Yes of course I’m coming,” he replied. “Why do you need to ask?”

“Because arrangements will have to be made. And also,” I added carefully, “because I was wondering about bringing…Jos.”

“Jos?” he repeated. “Your lover?”

“My partner,” I corrected him with frosty hauteur.

“Your partner? Oh, how modern. So you’re thinking of bringing him along? Hmmm,” he went on judiciously. “I’m not sure how I’d feel about that. I can’t say I’m gagging to play gooseberry all day. I know!” he exclaimed happily, as if struck by some novel thought. “You bring Jos and I’ll bring Andie. What do you say to that? We can have a civilized little foursome,” he enthused. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“It’s quite all right, Peter,” I said firmly. “I find I’ve suddenly changed my mind.” However happy I am with Jos at the moment, I still couldn’t face seeing
her
.

“Oh well,” he sighed theatrically. “We’ll just have to go down together then and present a united front. You can get the train and meet me there, or I’ll give you a lift—you choose.”

So on Saturday morning I went to meet Peter at his flat in Ponsonby Place. The house was a white, flat-fronted terrace in a rather stark, treeless street near the Tate. It looked “smart”, and rather sterile after the warm cosiness of Elliot Road. I pressed the bell, heard rapid steps, then suddenly the door opened and there he was. I was terrified that I’d see Andie standing proprietorially behind him, but mercifully there was no sign. There was an awkward moment when Peter and I greeted each other and didn’t quite know what to do. What does protocol require when you’re in the middle of a divorce? A kiss on the cheek? A handshake? A diplomatic smile? We opted for the air-kissing, which felt unnatural and contrived. It was as though we were actors in a play we’d insufficiently rehearsed and were suddenly unsure of our lines. Peter was wearing a pale linen suit which I’d never seen, and another expensive silk tie. His sartorial style had changed since our split; he had never dressed like this when we were married.

“You look a bit smart,” he remarked as he eyed up my Miu Miu linen shift. “You never dressed like this before.”

“Thanks,” I said uncertainly, unsure of whether or not that was a compliment. We smiled awkwardly at each other again as I stood there on the step.

“Do you want to come up?” he said.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t you want to see my flat?” Oh.

“Yes,” I said suddenly. “Why not?” And then I immediately regretted it, because I knew there’d be evidence of
her
. It would be horrible opening the bathroom door and seeing Andie’s face creams ranged on the shelf, or peeping into his bedroom and seeing her sexy nightwear spread out on the bed.

“It’s…all right, actually,” I stuttered. “I, er…some other time perhaps.”

“Oh,” he looked slightly disappointed. “Whatever you say. Well then!” He clapped his hands together with artificial brightness. “In that case, let’s get going. It’s that blue Rover parked over there.”

“Does this go with the job?” I enquired as he beeped open the door.

“Yes,” he said. “I could have had a Merc or a Beemer,” he went on, “but I felt I should do my patriotic duty.” It was only ten thirty, but the sun was beating down and the sky was yet again a hot, searing blue. As we crossed the river we could see a miasma of smog already enveloping the city like a shroud.

“Isn’t this fun, Faith?” he said as we drove along with the windows down. “And I’d just like to say that I have absolutely no intention of asking you to share petrol.”

“Thank you,” I said wryly.

“This one’s on me. It’s complimentary. It’s gratis. F.o.C.”

“Very kind,” I said as I pulled down the visor against the glare.

“Isn’t this a laugh?” he said. I gave him a sideways glance. I realized that this was the first time I’d been alone with Peter for any length of time since he’d moved out. He appeared to be in an odd, flippant kind of mood which I found slightly unnerving. He seemed happy. Unnaturally so. No doubt, I reflected suspiciously, because he was having such a good time with Andie.

“Isn’t this fun!” he exclaimed again as he drummed his fingertips against the steering wheel. “It’s just like old times, eh?”

“Not really,” I said warily as I put on my shades. “The old times are over now.”

“Yes,” he conceded with a wistful sigh. “Yes. I suppose they are. Now, where are we up to on the divorce?” he went on pleasantly as we followed signs for Blackheath. “Are you fighting me for the house, or am I trying to get custody of the kids? Who’s going to get the record collection, and is there going to be a tug-of-love with Graham?”

“I don’t know what’s happening on that front,” I said, refusing to respond to his facetiousness. “I haven’t heard from Rory Cheetham-Stabb for weeks.”

“Well I’ve done my bit, Faith,” he said as we drove through Catford. “I’ve sent back that Acknowledgment of Service form, so any delays are not due to me.”

“You seem very cheerful about it all,” I sniffed.

“It’s gallows humor. I’m just resigned. I mean, if you want to go to Splitsville I can’t stop you, but as you know, it’s not my choice.”

“Well it wasn’t my choice that you should run off with your headhunter,” I retorted as we went round a roundabout.

“I didn’t run off with her, that’s not fair. Damn! Where’s the sign?”

“No, but you did get involved.”

“True,” he conceded as we went round again. “But only after you’d kicked me out.”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t have kicked you out, as you so inelegantly put it, if you hadn’t had an affair—QED.”

“Oh, Faith,” said Peter as the road circled round again. “It’s so lovely and logical and simple for you, isn’t it? One plus one equals two.”

“I know that one plus one plus one equals
three,
” I shot back, “and in a marriage that’s fifty per cent too many!”

“You know, your arithmetic’s stunning,” he said. “It should be you getting the math prize today, not Matt. In any case,” he went on quietly, “you seem to have got yourself fixed up with impressive speed.” I didn’t say anything. I knew it was true. “Now,” he said as we followed signs to Sidcup, “the kids tell me that your new bloke, whatshisname, Mr Glyndebourne, has industrial quantities of charm.”

“They’re quite right,” I replied. “Jos does. He’s also considerate, generous and kind. Do you know, he gave Matt his old laptop. Wasn’t that sweet? And today he’s volunteered to look after the dog.”

“Well that
is
nice of him,” Peter agreed.

“It’s
very
nice of him,” I reiterated, “especially as he doesn’t even
like
Graham.” There was a moment’s silence as Peter took this in.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t like Graham?” he asked quietly as he changed gear.

“Look, Peter,” I said. “Just because we’re crazy about our dog doesn’t mean that everyone else has to be.”

“But Graham isn’t just any dog, Faith. He’s a very special dog.”

“Yes,” I said, “I
know
. But Jos doesn’t feel the same way. And that’s not really surprising because Graham’s not exactly mad about him.”

“Isn’t he? Oh, that’s interesting. And why not, may I ask?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “He’s being a bit…tricky at the moment. Katie thinks it may be because of the divorce.”

“Or maybe it’s because he knows something you don’t,” Peter suggested as we pulled up at a red light. “I always said that dog was a genius, Faith, from the day he first followed you home. So Graham doesn’t like your boyfriend,” he chuckled. “Oh dear. What does he do?”

“Well, it’s very embarrassing really,” I began slightly stiffly
as we followed signs for the motorway. “If Jos tries to, you know…”

“What?”

“Well, without being too personal—to kiss me, then Graham tries to bite him.”

“I’m not surprised. I’d probably do the same myself.”

“Also,” I said, ignoring him, “Graham is conducting a psychological campaign against him. He conspicuously refuses to be friendly, and is often cold and withdrawn. But today Jos has magnanimously set his personal feelings aside in order to help me out.”

“Well, that’s very good of him,” said Peter.

“Yes,” I said, “it is.”

“Or,” Peter added judiciously, “he’s trying to demonstrate what a great bloke he is.”

“There’s no need to be quite so cynical,” I said. “Maybe he
is
just a great bloke.”

“No need to be touchy, Faith,” said Peter as we turned onto the motorway. “I’m simply suggesting that to voluntarily spend several hours confined with a dog which is quite likely to savage you is somewhat beyond the call of duty. So I have to say I find myself wondering what Jos is trying to prove.”

“He’s not trying to prove anything,” I said hotly. “And in any case he doesn’t need to, because he knows I think he’s
great
.”

“Oh, really,” said Peter in a bored sort of way. “Lucky old Jos.”

“Look, Peter,” I said crossly as we picked up speed. “I’m not in the mood to quarrel, and in any case it’s much too hot. So can we please have an agreement that we leave each other’s partners alone? I promise not to bitch about—
her,
” I spat, “if you don’t criticize Jos.”

“OK,” he said. “It’s a deal. Pax?” he added with a smile.

“Yes. Pax,” I agreed. And I was just about to steer the conversation onto the safer territory of Peter’s new job when he suddenly put on his indicator and the car swung left into a garage.

“I need some petrol,” he said. “Hang on, won’t be a tick.” While he filled up the car on the forecourt I went into the shop. I wanted some water, some Polos and a paper.
The Times
had sold out so I bought a
Mail
.