Stilettos & Stubble (32 page)

He was rewarded with a swift flick of cold water from the tap and then
made to remove his trainer-clad feet from our pine kitchen table.

‘Will, in case it’s escaped your attention, I’ve been
working
all
day.  W..O..R..K..I..N..G.  Is that a word they taught you at the very
expensive private school your father and I chose to send you to?  And while
I’ve been working, you’ve done sod all.  Have you job-searched today?  Have you
put any washing on?  Have you even bothered to clean a knife or wipe a kitchen
surface?  NO!  So don’t start telling
me
to take a chill pill.  And Dad,
what have I told you about encouraging the boys to drink spirits?  If
you
didn’t buy it,
they
couldn’t drink it.’

‘Oooer, Mum!  Tough day with Sir Fuckwit was it?  Too much chasing you
round the office?’

I flinched as I heard Will use my boss’s nickname.  ‘Don’t use such foul
language Will, and tidy this bloody table up, you lot.  I need to get sorted
for supper.’

‘Leave it to us, Mum.’  Toby got up and poured me a large glass of
wine.  ‘Dad just called to say he won’t be home until about ten, so there’s no
rush.  I’ll cook my speciality, if you like.’

I hadn’t the heart to say that pasta with cheese and Marmite wasn’t my
ideal choice of meal but had to admit that the thought of not having to cook
was
rather appealing.

‘Thanks, Tobes.  There’s some Parma ham in the fridge you can chop up
and put in and a couple of loaves of garlic bread in the freezer.  I’m gonna
nip up and have a bath - feel a bit germy after the day I’ve had.’

As I dragged my weary body up the stairs, I’m sure Will hadn’t intended
for me to hear him saying, ‘So Gramps, d’you reckon it
is
the menopause
or just that she’s got a shit relationship with Dad?’

*****

It was heavenly to soak in the bath with my guilty secret, Michael
Bublé, quietly serenading me.  Of course I was never allowed to play him if
Hugh was in the house.  He was offended by middle of the road music and would
only entertain classical and opera.

As I sunk into the Bublé and bubbles I realised, not for the first time,
that Cordelia was right.  Hugh
was
stuffy and, if I really thought about
it, had always been ‘borderline’.  I hadn’t seen it when we’d met at
twenty-five.  I’d been too smitten by the student dentist with the MG sports
car who took me to flashy restaurants and sent me modest bouquets of flowers.

The modesty of those flowers should have rung some warning bells. 
Whilst Cordelia’s admirers sent half of Kew Gardens, mine usually failed to
fill a milk bottle.

I guess we met at the wrong time.  I was on the rebound with a broken ego
from a relationship I’d been having with a stunningly good-looking
philanderer.  Hugh was everything that Simon hadn’t been - solid, dependable,
reliable and … just a tad boring.

I shook my head in my warm frothy haven.  Did I
really
think that
of my husband?  After twenty years of marriage, was that
what I thought?

We’d been happy enough when we’d first married, I’m sure we had.  I
struggled to think that far back, to our first flat in Pimlico and then our
move to Brook Green when the boys were born.  I guess that’s when our lives
changed - but didn’t everyone’s when they had kids?  Wasn’t that a given? 
Looking back it was probably the mortgage that had been the killer.  Hugh had
his heart set on a huge house and garden and so he’d had to put in the hours to
cover the payments.  Dentists never struggle but he’d worked long, irregular
hours for many years, only cutting down when he felt he was close to clearing
the mortgage.

And he seemed to have taken to irregular hours again.  Just when he
should be slowing down, he was working every hour God sent.  And instead of
feeling neglected or unloved, I felt quiet relief.  I didn’t
want
to sit
about and be forced to listen to Verdi and I was sick of preparing dinner
parties for dentists and their boring bloody wives.

All those thoughts were running through my tired brain as I heard Toby
call up that supper would be half an hour.  As I dried myself and applied my
moisturiser, it occurred to me that not
once
had I considered that Hugh
might be having an affair.

And I wasn’t prepared to waste any time thinking about it either.

I guess that should have told me an awful lot.

*****

As it turned out, we had a great evening - me, my boys and my lovely dad
in the kitchen sharing pasta, salad and garlic bread with Pink Floyd playing in
the background.  Music which spanned three generations, as long as Hugh wasn’t
around.

I even allowed Will to have an illicit roll-up at the kitchen table.  I
didn’t approve, but I felt a bit of a hypocrite when I let Cordelia happily
light up whenever she stayed with us.

I was sitting in my cosy kitchen surrounded by my favourite men, sated
by a meal I hadn’t had to cook and almost starting to count my blessings, when
Will came and sat next to me, putting his hand on my pyjama-clad knee.

‘Mum?’

And I knew instantly that the night was about to take a turn for the
worse.  It was just the tone, the overly affectionate body contact.  It gave
him away every time.  You see, it pains me to say it, but Will was a lazy
little bastard.  Toby was trying to set up his own web design company and
earning himself a fairly decent wage for a young guy - he’d even offered to get
his brother on board but my lazy twin, the one who had to be sucked from my
loins because he was too sleepy to do it for himself, thought the world owed
him a living.  Or Mummy and Daddy could sign a blank cheque.

I could tell that Toby felt uncomfortable, obviously knowing what was
coming, as he got up and started busying himself making coffee.   My boys
didn’t
do
coffee if there was still alcohol on the go!

‘Yes Will.’  I took his hand and looked him straight in the eye, knowing
he hated that.

‘I’m just a tad short this month and I was just wondering if you and Dad
could … you know?’

Toby cluttered around noisily, filling the cafetière and also the
growing silence while Dad picked at invisible bits of fluff on his trousers and
hummed along to ‘Dark Side of the Moon’.

I don’t know if it was because I’d had a tough day or if I was pissed
off with Hugh’s constant excuses for working late, but I found my voice and
spoke the words I should have said months ago.  ‘No Will.  Dad and I
can’t
. 
You’ve had a fortune spent on your education and you’ve chosen to do nothing
with it.  You’re bloody lucky we still give you a monthly allowance and it’s
time you got off your backside and earned a living.  If you’re finding yourself
‘a tad short’ sodding well
do
something about it.’  I removed my hand
from his grasp and swigged at my wine while Dad and Toby coughed in embarrassed
harmony.

‘But Mum,’  Will continued on regardless.  ‘I’m meant to be taking Ems out tomorrow night and I can’t do that with no dosh, can I?’

‘No, my darling, you can’t.  But you should have budgeted better or
found yourself even a
part-time
job.  Sorry, it’s time for tough love.’

Of course this resulted in the emergence of ‘Temper Tantrum Twin’ as he
grabbed his tobacco and glass of wine, kicked back his chair and headed for the
garden.  And that was just at the moment Hugh appeared in the kitchen doorway,
visibly swaying, and telling us he’d left the car at the surgery as they’d all
decided to have a few ‘drinky-poos’ after work.’

And with that he slid down the doorframe and sat in the kitchen in a
giggling heap.

Oh yes, that was the end to my perfect bloody Monday - it had started
with my father slumped on the floor and ended with my husband in much the same
position.

As I looked into the garden to my sulking son and then back to his
brother and my dad, I began to feel everything crashing in on me.  But in
that
moment I had the presence of mind to pick up my glass and a bottle of screw top
wine from the fridge, step over my husband in the doorway and head for the
spare room.

It was time to be alone.

‘COMPLETING THE PUZZLE’

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