The Learning Curve (22 page)

Oh yeah, baby, he heard that one loud and clear. Dutch courage for the little lady.

She sat close to him on the two-seater. Bring it on, he thought.

Then she crossed her legs in front of him, hunched over them and let out a long sigh.

Hmm, he thought. Certainly not textbook. And very defensive body language. He couldn’t get past those legs if he tried.

‘Do you mind doing the honours?’ she asked, passing him the corkscrew and fluttering her eyelashes faux-coyly at him, traces of a soft blush creeping up her neck.

‘My pleasure.’ He smiled.

He heard her sigh and felt her eyes bore into his back as he opened the wine beside her. He tried to imagine what he looked like to her – his hands were large and agile and he opened the wine with no trouble, on just the second attempt. He poured it slowly and carefully into the wine glasses, then turned to her with a practised smile and found her daydreaming out of the window.

She turned and gave him a faint smile. Their fingers touched. She sighed again, louder this time, and stretched her head back, exposing a smooth, almost luminous neck.

He gulped down the wine.

‘Help yourself to whatever you want,’ she murmured.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured back, trying to put the wine glass back on the table without taking his eyes off her.

She looked back up. ‘Sorry it’s only pasta.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’m just so exhausted I didn’t have the energy to do anything more fussy. I feel like I’m about seventy. I feel . . . spent. Totally and utterly spent.’

OK, he heard that one loud and clear. Not tonight,
Josephine. He was almost relieved. He was beginning to feel a bit tired himself.

So he was rather surprised when she then slowly shuffled sideways, moved up, and leant towards him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Mark stared at Lilith across the kitchen table in disbelief. He must have misheard her. There was no way she’d have said that. Especially after the meal he’d just made. He asked her, in a calm, steady voice, to repeat herself.

‘You heard,’ she replied, just as calmly and steadily.

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ he asked.

‘I mean exactly what I said,’ she said. ‘It was about bloody time someone told you the truth. It should have been a friend, but it happened to be her.’

‘I don’t think you could have heard me right. That uptight little bitch accused me of – she . . . she said “poppycock”, for Christ’s sake.’

‘I know, Mark. I heard every single word. And she’s right.’

‘I thought we were friends,’ he whispered.

‘No.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I haven’t been much of a friend to you. I’ve been helping you disguise your problem instead of helping you get out of it.’

‘What problem?’

‘If I was a real friend, I’d have said all that years ago.’

‘You have!’ cried Mark. ‘You threatened to put him out on the street the other day.’

‘Yeah, but I always got angry on behalf of me or Daisy. But the real one who’s been suffering was Oscar. And he has been for years. And I’ve never actually said it.’

‘Oh Jesus,’ he muttered. ‘Not you too.’

‘You only have one chance with kids, Mark. And that’s it. Then they’re gone.’

He shivered suddenly.

‘I also think,’ Lilith was now speaking in a gentle whisper, ‘that you know – deep down – that she’s hit the nail on the head. You have fucked up big time. You’ve completely failed Oscar as a father. And that is massive.’

He shook his head.

‘Which is why,’ she continued, ‘your body is purging out all the shit that you’ve been in denial about since Helen died. ’Cos you hate to get things wrong, ’cos you’re a perfectionist. But you’ve been doing the wrong thing perfectly.’

Mark closed his eyes and hung his head down.

His mouth formed the word ‘Poppycock’, but no sound came out.

‘There, there,’ Rob comforted Nicky, shifting so that he could put his arm round her without giving himself a hernia. ‘What’s all this, eh?’

She moved away stiffly. ‘God, I’m really sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘I can’t stop crying.’

‘That’s all right by me. Here,’ he poured some more wine in her glass. She drank it down.

‘I – I . . .’ She drank some more wine.

He waited.

‘I feel,’ she said with some difficulty, ‘like I’m waiting for something . . . monumental . . . to happen in my life.’

Rob stared at the two freckles on her upper lip and slowly leant in towards her.

‘Something awful,’ she continued. ‘Something terrible. Something catastrophically bad.’

He leant back.

‘And I just felt,’ she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, ‘that I needed to get it off my chest or I’d end up vomiting it up or something.’

He let out a long sigh and poured himself another wine.

‘Shoot,’ he said.

Mark and Lilith moved slowly into the living room, so that Mark could lie down. He needed to be horizontal.

‘So, let me get this right,’ he said slowly, from the day-bed. ‘On Hallowe’en, Miss Hobbs made you hot chocolate because you happened to be in her flat when I texted Osc to say I wasn’t coming?’

‘Yep,’ sighed Lilith. ‘And toast with jam and butter. And that was when she asked me, quietly and out of the kids’ earshot, where you were.’

He grimaced. ‘And what did you say?’

Lilith shrugged. ‘What was I supposed to say? I told her you were still at work. Again.’

Mark stared at her. ‘You didn’t think,’ he said slowly, ‘to tell Oscar’s form teacher that I was helping starving kids in Africa –’

‘Why the fuck should I lie for you, Mark?’ She sat up on the sofa indignantly.

‘Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.’

‘And the fact that you said that shows that you know damn well that being at work is a shitty excuse not to go to your child’s Parents’ Evening.’

‘Yeah,’ he murmured, shaking his head. ‘Fuck,’ he whispered to himself.

There was a pause. Lilith looked at her watch before downing her glass of wine.

‘So, go on then,’ he said suddenly. ‘How did she react?’

‘Funnily enough, she wasn’t that impressed, as I recall.’

‘Yeah, well, you recall right. She was not impressed. She was most
un
impressed. Oh yes,’ he said bitterly. ‘Miss Hobbs was most unimpressed.’

‘As was I.’

‘Miss Hobbs, prim Little Miss School-ma’am, was unimpressed.’

‘As was I.’

‘But she doesn’t understand how it works in the city. You don’t get anywhere if you’re half-hearted about your career. It doesn’t –’

‘Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,’ cut in Lilith, holding her hands over her ears.

Mark frowned at her.

‘Oh don’t be –’ he started.

‘Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah –’

‘Oh, grow up –’

He stopped and there was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again.

‘Blah,’ he whispered, closing his eyes before they filled too much.

Rob stroked Nicky’s hair out of her face and kissed her gently on her forehead.

‘Of course you’re not going to lose your job,’ he soothed her.

‘But maybe I should,’ sniffed Nicky. She moved slightly
away and stared at him. ‘Then I could focus on what’s staring me in the face.’

He stared into her face.

Then he leant in.

‘If –’ started Nicky.

He leant out.

‘If I ask you a really important question, will you promise to answer me truthfully?’

‘God, yes,’ he said firmly.

‘Rob?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘You know you said, when we got our promotion, that you were changing your mind about wanting kids?’

He held his breath. He gave a brief nod.

‘Tell me,’ she continued, ‘do you think it’s possible for a woman to have a good career as well as a family?’

‘Of course.’

She nodded. ‘OK, take it one step further. If you had a baby with a successful career woman – a theoretical successful career woman – who loved her job and was good at it, would you expect her to give up work to be with the baby?’

He blinked at her. Fucking hell. They hadn’t discussed babies since . . . well, since . . . Shit, this was big. Keep calm. He’d completely misjudged it last time. Think.
She’s changed now. She’s a successful career woman. But she still wants kids
. Talk about the million-dollar question. It was tricky, but it wasn’t impossible. She probably didn’t know the right answer herself. Sweat beaded his forehead. If he got this right, they could be shagging within minutes.

‘No-o,’ he said finally. ‘Of course not. Unless, of course,
y-she wanted to be a full-time mother, which would be absolutely fine with me . . . you know, fantastic.’

‘So . . . deep down you would want her to?’

‘N-nooo. I didn’t say that.’

‘So you’d
want
her to work?’

‘No-oh. I’d want her to be happy –’

‘More than you’d want the baby to be happy?’

‘No! I’d want the baby and her to be happy.’

‘But you’d see it as her responsibility – not yours – to change her life to keep the baby happy.’

‘I think,’ answered Rob slowly, ‘deep down, that
she’d
probably see it as her responsibility.’

‘Well, of course she would,’ answered Nicky, ‘she’s been socialised to think that’s her role, whether she’s naturally maternal or not.’

‘Right, yeah.’

Shit, she’d changed. Think, man,
think
.

‘If she
did
want to be with her babies,’ she continued, ‘and wanted to keep up her career, then what?’

‘Um.’ Rob had lost concentration. He poured himself more wine.

‘Would you like her to work part-time?’ suggested Nicky.

‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘Brilliant! Part-time! Perfect! Absolutely perfect. Win-win! Everyone’s happy!’

‘Which would, of course,’ mused Nicky, ‘ruin any of her long-term career ambitions, thus preventing her from being any kind of threat to your masculinity.’

‘Um . . . right . . . well . . .’

‘It’s all so confusing, isn’t it?’

‘Fuck, yes.’

‘I mean, what is the right answer?’

‘Bugger me.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if the last generation didn’t get it right. No questions asked: father worked, mother looked after the kids.’

‘Yeah,’ murmured Rob, relaxing slightly. ‘Father got the best armchair, kids in bed before he got home, female teachers left if they got married. I mean – obviously, that’s appalling.’

‘And of course a whole generation of mothers were depressed, angry and unfulfilled and took it out on the children who’d ruined their lives.’

‘Shit. Yes –’

‘But on the other hand, at least they knew what lay ahead for them. Everything was so certain in those days.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Still. It must have been hell. A life of making sacrifices. Inevitable depression. Isolation. Bitterness. Resentment. Watching their self-esteem seep away while their men got on with their lives.’

‘Well . . . I wouldn’t go that far. It wasn’t a piece of cake for the men either. Same job for forty years. Mortgage, wife and kids to support.’

Nicky looked at him. ‘Kudos, respect, money, companionship, illicit affairs.’

‘But it didn’t work out well for all of them. I mean – no . . .’

‘No.’

‘And life’s not a piece of cake for us now.’

‘How so?’

‘Well,’ pondered Rob. ‘OK, just for example, just plucking it out of the air. You and I certainly wouldn’t be sharing a job.’

‘No, you’re right,’ agreed Nicky. ‘I’d be stuck at home ironing your shirts.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I mean, hypothetically.’

‘While I’d be providing for you.’

She gave him a look.

‘Hypothetically,’ he added.

‘I would
hate
to have someone providing for me,’ she muttered.

He spoke softly. ‘And I’ve got someone to do my shirts.’

They stared at each other. OK. He was back on track.

‘I suppose,’ said Nicky thoughtfully, ‘we’re in the dark together. I mean, men and women.’ She smiled. ‘On the same learning curve together.’

He nodded, leaning in. ‘Sometimes that’s nice,’ he murmured.

‘I hate it,’ said Nicky firmly. ‘I need to be in control.’

He leant out again. ‘But you’re completely in control, Nix,’ he whispered. ‘Even when you don’t think you are.’

‘Am I?’

‘You always have been.’ His voice was low.

‘I feel totally out of my depth. I don’t know what’s going to happen next.’

‘Well, just wait and see,’ he murmured again, leaning in. ‘You might get a pleasant surprise.’ He moved his arm to turn off the lamp.

‘God, no,’ she said fiercely. ‘I hate surprises.’

Rob went limp. He rested a hand on her knee and looked seriously at her. ‘Nix,’ he whispered, ‘I’m too old for this shit.’

She returned his gaze. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘I
was just about to say that. I know exactly what you mean.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yeah. Sometimes I feel . . .’

‘Yes? What?’

‘
Old
. Really
old
.’

He stared at her. ‘Well, I certainly do tonight,’ he said.

She blinked in surprise. ‘Why tonight?’

He snorted. ‘I love you to bits, but you’re doing my head in.’

She frowned hard. ‘I’m doing your head in?’ she repeated faintly.

‘Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way . . . but you send such mixed messages I don’t know whether to jump your bones or run for the hills.’

Nicky’s eyes were saucers. He held his breath. This was the moment. Make-or-break time.

‘Do help me out here, Rob,’ she said softly. ‘But what’s the
right
way to take that?’

Oh dear. He had a moment to put it all right again.

‘No!’ he said suddenly, with almost ferocious certainty. ‘I would not make a successful career woman give up work.’

Nicky’s voice was ice. ‘Well, whoop-de-fucking-doo for her.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ he wailed, a sob escaping.

‘You told me we were friends –’

‘Oh don’t give me that “friends” shit . . .’ His voice trailed off. ‘You prick-tease me for three years,’ he began, ‘then finally launch yourself at me in your kitchen.’

‘I did not launch –’