Unsuitable Men (34 page)

I deleted all the missed calls from yesterday and checked my messages. There was just one new one, from Luke, clearly frustrated at the sudden termination of our conversation on Friday night.
‘If you had a shred of decency,’ his message read, ‘you would at least send me a picture of your tits.’

Before I could ask Jim anything more, the home phone rang again.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Jim, scowling. He snatched the phone from its cradle and barked a terse ‘Yes?’

Percy, Eleanor and I watched him expectantly. While I would rather not have seen him this morning, my head still spinning from last night, I had to admit that I was grateful to him for being
here. He had obviously already made breakfast for everyone, somehow steered Eleanor away from her morning whisky, and now he was dealing with phone calls from the press. I hadn’t considered
that Auntie Lyd was famous enough, so long after her heyday, that journalists would hound her family for updates on her health.

‘Right, mate, hi,’ said Jim, nodding into the phone. ‘Did you want to speak to Dawn? I mean, Rory? Okay, I can pass on a message. Yup, yup. How did you—? Okay, fine, yup.
Thanks, mate, see you in a bit.’

‘Who was that?’ I asked, as soon as he hung up.

‘Martin,’ said Jim. ‘He said to tell you he’s nearly here – he checked with the hospital and your aunt is doing well. He’ll take you straight
there.’

‘He rang the hospital . . .?’ I began. I should have called the moment I’d woken up. It shouldn’t have been Martin who made the call; that was my responsibility.

Jim interrupted as if he’d read my mind. ‘He said he was family.’

I felt irrationally annoyed by Martin’s presumption. I was Auntie Lyd’s family, not him. I knew I should have been grateful that he was giving up his time like this, and sparing me
the bus journey, but if I was honest, I’d woken up this morning thinking that I would have preferred to travel there on my own, anonymous and unnoticed on public transport where I was free to
think. I wondered if Martin would have been so keen to help me if he knew I’d been kissing another man in the kitchen last night. That aside, I didn’t want to be obliged to consider his
feelings when I got to the hospital, to have him at the back of my mind when I wanted to give all my attention to Auntie Lyd.

‘Everything all right, Rory, dear?’ asked Eleanor, tilting her head at me, bird-like.

‘Oh fine, fine,’ I said. The others didn’t need to be burdened with my worries. They had enough of their own.

‘Will we come to the hospital with you?’ Percy asked.

My heart sank a little. I shouldn’t deny them the chance to come and see Auntie Lyd themselves, but I so longed to see her on my own.

Jim interrupted before I could speak, seeming to read my mind. ‘I think we should all stay here this morning, let Rory see Lydia by herself first. Best not to crowd the patient,
don’t you think, Dawn? I can bring us all for afternoon visiting hours.’

‘Well, yes,’ agreed Eleanor. ‘If you think that’s best, dear. I’m sure we don’t want to be any trouble, do we, Percy?’

‘You’re no trouble,’ I said to Eleanor. ‘I’m sure Auntie Lyd will want to see you both as soon as possible. But maybe Jim’s right – this
afternoon’s better.’

I smiled at Jim gratefully and he shrugged. Turning away, he started to empty the dishwasher, stacking plates and bowls noisily on the side. Although it was kind of him to help, I couldn’t
help wondering if he was using household chores as an excuse to keep me at a distance. As if I might pounce on him again. Obviously Jim thought last night had been a huge mistake. Of course he was
right. What had we been thinking? We’d both drunk far too much, and now it was clear he regretted it. Fine. It wasn’t like I even fancied him.

‘Call me,’ said Jim gruffly, his head buried in the dishwasher.

‘Sorry?’ I asked.

‘Call me to say if she wants afternoon visitors, and I’ll bring Perce and Eleanor to the hospital,’ said Jim, glancing up. I couldn’t work him out. One minute he was
laughing and teasing, the next serious and grim. It made me nervous. Suddenly I wanted to get out of the kitchen, out of the house. Martin would be here soon and then I would lose my only chance to
be alone.

‘Okay,’ I said, backing slowly towards the kitchen door as if I imagined the others would forcibly restrain me there if they suspected my motives. ‘I – I think I’m
going to wait for Martin outside. I feel like I could do with some fresh air.’

Jim stood up, looking annoyed. He gestured towards the kitchen table and the spread of plates in front of Percy and Eleanor.

‘You haven’t eaten anything,’ he said, hands on his hips.

‘I’m not hungry,’ I said apologetically. Jim glowered at me as if he were a devoted housewife and I the ungrateful husband spurning the meal she had spent all day
preparing.

‘You hardly had anything last night. You need to eat,’ Jim insisted. He picked up a banana from the fruit bowl and thrust it at me, almost angrily. ‘Take this.’

I took it from his hand and muttered my thanks. I could feel Percy and Eleanor watching the exchange with interest. Everything between me and Jim seemed oddly charged with significance this
morning; as if the banana was a symbol of great meaning instead of just a fruit. It
was
a little phallic, I thought. Perhaps they would have been less intrigued if he had offered me a
satsuma or an apple instead.

‘I’ll call you as soon as there’s news,’ I promised, backing out of the kitchen towards the stairs, waving the banana. Upstairs I tucked it into my coat pocket, where I
knew it would become bruised and black and inedible within hours. I’d find somewhere to get rid of it at the hospital.

Outside I sat on the step where Martin had waited for me only yesterday. Now I waited for him, tucking my chin into my scarf even though the day was already warm. At the bottom of my handbag I
found my sunglasses, unworn for months. The spring sunlight was far from bright, but putting my shades on darkened the square pleasantly, as if I was now under a protective shield. I propped my
elbows on my knees and allowed my head to sink down into my hands. It was a relief to be alone, even if just for a moment. My face hidden, I didn’t have to pretend. Although I didn’t
know how I would have coped without the support of everyone around me, there was a sense of obligation, a need to be visibly grateful and appreciative for everyone’s efforts, that weighed
almost as heavily on me as the worry for Auntie Lyd. I was glad of this brief interlude in which I could just feel like crap without inspiring anyone to feel they must cheer me up.

My rest was interrupted by the beeping of a horn. I looked up to see Martin’s car turning into the square. He’d bought it when he got promoted – a large new Audi estate which
I’d taken, at the time, as a sign that he was beginning to think about a future that might involve marriage and children. It was a family car, after all. But then I discovered, thanks to a
spreadsheet on his desktop, that he’d made the purchase purely because of the Audi’s excellent fuel economy. He loved this car, washing it and painstakingly waxing it every Sunday
morning; I had often thought this weekly display of ritual devotion was almost his version of church. The fact Martin was here at all, instead of attending to his usual routine, was significant. I
could see how hard he was trying. He pulled up outside Auntie Lyd’s house and wound down the window, leaning out with his elbow tucked over the door. He kept the engine running.

‘What are you doing outside?’ he shouted.

‘Waiting for you,’ I said, coming down the steps.

I got into the passenger seat, dropping my handbag into the footwell.

‘How did you sleep?’ he asked. I looked at him: the hopeful expression, so anxious to please, so concerned with my approval. It was such a reversal of our usual dynamic that I almost
wanted to laugh in his face. The stress and grief were obviously affecting me more than I knew.

‘Fine, thanks. Can we go?’

‘Of course,’ he said.

He clicked on the radio as we left Elgin Square, obviously realizing that I wasn’t up for much talking. I knew I should probably be more amenable; try to acknowledge my gratitude by making
conversation. But as we drove, Martin sang along to Magic FM with a cheery enthusiasm that seemed to suggest he wasn’t offended. I glanced over at him and he smiled back; that indulgent grin
again. It was odd to think of how many years I had spent modifying my behaviour to ensure I didn’t upset or annoy him – I’d anticipated his every need, believing this was what
kept our relationship going – and here I was distracted, monosyllabic, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. It only seemed to make him more eager to please me. Perhaps I should have been
like this all along.

When we got to the cardiology unit Martin hovered solicitously at my elbow, ushering me towards the waiting room.

‘I’ll go to find a nurse,’ he said. ‘You wait here.’

‘No,’ I said, pulling my arm away. The thick, soupy air of the hospital felt stifling, recycled through the lungs of the unwell. ‘I know where she is. I’m going straight
there. I hate that waiting room.’

He looked surprised at my insistence, and agreed without demur, stroking my arm to pacify me. ‘Okay. Show me the way. Let’s go.’

He started to follow me. I turned and put my hand on his chest, moving him to the side of the corridor to let a gurney pass. He looked down at me with such an anxious expression that I felt
guilty for wishing him to go away.

‘Martin. I need to see her on my own. Please.’

He held up both hands in mock surrender. ‘Of course you do, Rory. I’ll give you some time alone.’

He shooed me down the corridor as if I was a naughty child: ‘Go on.’

The closer I got to the ward, the more nervous I felt. Martin had assured me the doctor had said Auntie Lyd was much improved, and he had actually been satisfied with that answer and not asked
any further questions, as I would have done. It wasn’t Martin’s fault. He was trying to spare me any anxiety, but really he had made it worse: I didn’t know what to expect.
‘Much improved’ could mean that she was still unconscious, or it could mean that she was already sitting, dressed, on the end of her bed waiting to be brought home. Hospital staff
marched purposefully through the corridors, chatting cheerfully, in contrast to the drawn and anxious relatives and friends who shadowed them in silence. I wondered how Auntie Lyd would react to
seeing me. She had been so angry the last time we spoke. Maybe I should have allowed Percy and Eleanor – or even Jim – to see her first. I didn’t want to upset her again.

I took a deep breath outside Blue Ward. While I tried to compose myself, I could hear laughter coming from inside, and before I could push the door it swung open from the inside and a hospital
orderly emerged waving a piece of paper. ‘I got her autograph,’ he beamed as he passed me. I grabbed the opened door and peered in. In the midst of a small group of nurses I could see
Auntie Lyd sitting up in bed, leaning on a stack of pillows, dressed in the plaid flannel nightgown that Jim had bought. She was surrounded by flowers, vast ostentatious bunches that had been
deposited in an assortment of hospital-related receptacles, the ward’s supply of vases obviously being exhausted by such floral bounty. Auntie Lyd was pale, with two vivid spots of red on her
cheeks, as if someone had rubbed on paint with a fingertip. She smiled at everyone politely, with an expression that I recognized as the faintly embarrassed yet dutiful one she wore on the
occasions she was stopped in the street by people who recognized her. Unlike Percy and Eleanor she did not invite the attention of fans, but rather tolerated it.

Her head turned slowly in my direction and her colour heightened. She raised herself up a little and I rushed over to the bed to stop her from exerting herself.

‘Rory,’ she said weakly.

‘Auntie Lyd.’ I clasped her hand between both of mine, and this time her tight hold was not an involuntary reflex. I blinked away tears.

The doctor who had been sitting on the end of Auntie Lyd’s bed stood up, and I saw him silently indicate to the others that they should leave. The small crowd dispersed obediently,
gossiping and giggling as they left the ward. I felt reassured that they wouldn’t be so flippant if there was anything to worry about.

‘How do you feel?’ I asked.

The doctor cleared his throat noisily, still standing at the foot of the bed.

‘Doctor Prasad, this is my niece, Rory,’ Auntie Lyd said.

‘Ah, Rory.’ He nodded in greeting. ‘Your aunt is perfectly well, apart from a non-ST segment myocardial infarction.’

Auntie Lyd smiled dutifully, but I had no idea what he was on about.

‘Minor heart attack, very minor,’ the doctor explained, seeing my puzzled expression. ‘She’ll be ready to come home in a few days. But she’s going to need a very
calm, tranquil environment when she gets there. Rest. No excitements, no disturbances. You’ll have to make sure of that.’

He cast me such a forbidding look of warning that I wondered if Auntie Lyd had told him how difficult I’d made things over the last few months. Did he know about Malky’s dog and Mr
Bits? About my arguments with Jim? My teenage sulking over Martin? I flushed guiltily.

‘Rory is a very great support to me,’ said Auntie Lyd, squeezing my hand again. She was so loyal. I didn’t deserve it.

The doctor promised to be back on his rounds in the afternoon, adjusted the beeping machine next to Auntie Lyd to no apparent purpose, and left the ward. I drew the curtain around the bed for
privacy. When I sat down next to her the red spots had left her cheeks and she looked worryingly grey. She offered me a wan smile, sinking back on her pillows.

‘I’m so sorry, Auntie Lyd,’ I whispered, hanging my head in shame. ‘I haven’t been a support to you at all, I’ve been terrible. I’m sorry I argued with
Jim. I’m sorry for everything.’

‘Oh, Rory,’ she sighed. ‘This isn’t your fault, you silly girl.’

‘It is,’ I sniffed.

‘Must I remind you again, Aurora, that not everything is about you? According to the doctor it is all about
me
, and my tobacco habit.’ Although her voice was still weak there
was a touch of asperity to it that reassured me more than anything the doctor had said.