Simon blinks at him. Although his neatly-cropped hair is far more salt than pepper these days, he’s looked younger – and certainly happier – since he was kicked off
Mr Jones
and shunted down to
Tram Enthusiast
’s basement offices. It’s as if time operates on a different system down there in the bowels of the building. In contrast, Rob feels as if he has aged with astonishing speed these past few weeks. His heart feels leaden, his intestines a mass of knots and tangles, and his gut aches with a dull, heavy pain from missing Kerry and the children.
‘After everything that’s happened,’ Simon remarks, ‘I don’t think the dog issue is something you should be worrying about.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Sorry, Rob, but Kerry can do whatever she likes now. She could get a herd of buffalo if she wanted to.’
‘Tell it like it is,’ he murmurs, wishing he was one of the happy, smiling people around him who are enjoying this pleasant October evening. Of course, Simon’s right, that’s the worst part of it. Rob is vaguely aware that, in directing his focus on a minor aspect of the proceedings – Kerry’s impending acquisition of a crotch-sniffer – he’s attempting to avoid the bigger ones. Like how it’ll be when he sees Freddie and Mia this weekend, the first time since ‘it’ happened. Whether his mum will speak to him or concuss him with her meat cleaver. And, beyond that, Nadine’s pregnancy – culminating in a baby, obviously – and how he intends to deal with that. Birth, nappies, reading bedtime stories to a child whose genetic make-up isn’t fifty percent Kerry’s … not to mention impending bankruptcy when he finds himself supporting two families. Right now, these things feel gargantuan. Who could blame him for fixating on a dog?
‘So how are things with Nadine?’ Simon is asking.
He shrugs. ‘Okay, I guess. Sort of … polite.’
‘So you haven’t,
you
know …’ He waggles a brow.
‘No,’ Rob hisses, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘It’s not like we’re together, in a proper relationship or anything. It was just that one time. Just a stupid, drunken, flukey thing.’
‘Blimey,’ Simon mutters with a shake of his head. ‘And there’s no way you can, you know … fix things with Kerry and get back together?’
‘No, I’ve tried everything. She won’t even consider it, not even for the kids …’
Simon pats his arm consolingly, and they fall into an uncomfortable silence as Rob lights up another cigarette. He’d looked forward to this drink after work and the chance to talk to someone who’s known him for years, with whom he doesn’t have to put up a pretence of being young and dynamic and remotely interested in some surgically-enhanced model from a TV reality show. He’d imagined making his friend laugh about the terrible Miss Jones column he’s being forced to write, after which they’d launch into an extremely satisfying character assassination of Eddy, Frank and the rest of the team. Rob had also planned to ask if he might be able to stay with Simon if the need arises when he has to move out of the house in a few weeks’ time. Now, though, he’s decided to wrap up the evening as quickly as possible.
‘So,’ Simon ventures, ‘does anyone at work know yet?’
‘No, thank God. She’s only told her close friends, and she’s just broken the news to her parents …’
‘Ah, your new in-laws.’ Simon smiles ruefully. ‘Had the pleasure yet?’
He shakes his head. ‘They live in Zurich and don’t seem to have any plans to come over, as far as I can gather. Nadine said she’s had some pretty intense chats with her mum on the phone, but her dad doesn’t seem that involved.’
‘Until he comes charging at you with a big stick,’ Simon chortles, ‘or a bucket of boiling oil or a bread knife …’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Rob laughs dryly.
‘… And chops your knackers off.’
‘Hmmm.’ Rob blinks at him.
‘Back on the fags, then,’ Simon observes.
‘Yeah. Gonna quit, though,’ he says, stubbing it out. ‘Fancy going inside? It’s a bit nippy out here.’ In truth, Rob doesn’t feel entirely comfortable standing out in the street so close to the office.
With a resigned shrug, Simon heads inside, where they grab the only free table and sit in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks.
‘Um … can I ask you something?’ Rob starts.
‘Sure, fire away.’
‘Have you ever had a rough patch with Louise? A really bad one, I mean, when you thought you might break up?’
Simon frowns. ‘Nope, never. Love her to bits, mate.’
Rob takes a moment to digest this. ‘I don’t mean
that
. I know you do. I mean … have you ever done something you really regretted, that could have ruined everything?’
Simon thinks for a moment. Surely he has, Rob reflects. Everyone makes mistakes, don’t they?
‘Oh, yeah,’ Simon says finally. ‘I was painting the garage – you know, with a roller – and it was really windy and when I looked round, one side of her brand new Audi was completely speckled in white.’
Rob frowns at him.
‘I know, you’re speechless, right?’ Simon guffaws. ‘Can you imagine Louise’s face?’
‘Yes, I can,’ he says, shaking his head in disbelief – not about the car, but the fact that, even with his old friend, he has to act like a phoney idiot. What does he care about a speckled car?
‘Anyway, another drink?’ Simon is already out of his seat.
Still feeling a little stung over that knackers quip, Rob shakes his head and quickly drains his glass. ‘No, better get home. Still got that bloody column to finish.’
‘Oh yeah, I heard about that,’ Simon sniggers as they squeeze their way out of the now bustling pub. ‘Not the best timing, is it?’
‘To be a woman? No.’
‘I mean to start dishing out sex advice.’
‘You could say that.’ Rob musters a laugh.
‘Yeah, well, I’m sure things’ll work out,’ Simon says, giving him a firm pat on the back as they part company. Rob looks back just once, catching his friend’s concerned glance as he pulls out his packet of cigarettes and lights up.
*
Although he intended to go home, Rob finds himself not heading for the Tube but following random streets, not really considering where he’s going until he arrives in Baker Street. It’s almost 9 p.m. when he buzzes Nadine’s bell.
‘Hey,’ she says through the intercom, ‘this is a surprise.’
‘Hope you don’t mind?’
‘No, it’s fine – come up.’ She buzzes him in and, when he arrives at the door to her flat, he realises all he wants is company with someone who won’t make jokes about hot oil, or go on about how bloody perfect their relationship is.
They don’t even talk about the baby, not really. Nadine makes him tea, and they chat companionably about her upbringing in Berkshire – horses, lavish dinner parties, all the trappings of the wealthy English countryside – financed by her banker father. Granted, she’s not the most fascinating person Rob has ever encountered – and he’s a little perturbed to discover that her bijoux CD collection consists entirely of chart compilations. Talking to her is like falling into conversation with a pleasant young person on a train, he decides as she goes to refill their mugs. It’s relaxing and enjoyable – but you’re not exactly devastated when they get off at Crewe.
You’re not sitting next to her on a train, idiot
, he reminds himself sternly.
You’re having a child with her
. He rearranges his expression into a perky smile when she reappears with tea and toast, thanking her profusely and complimenting the bland abstract print on the living room wall.
‘It’s Mummy’s actually,’ she says. ‘I think she got it in Debenhams.’
Jesus fuck
.
‘I really like it,’ he says, wondering where these hitherto undiscovered reserves of fakery are coming from.
Nadine smiles warmly and checks her watch. ‘You can stay tonight if you like. It’s been lovely, chatting with you. Nice and normal after all the craziness.’
‘Well … if you’re sure it’s all right,’ he says hesitantly, overcome by a wave of fatigue. He knows he shouldn’t really. When he said he’d be there for her, he meant in the supportive and financial sense, not that he had any intention of them ever sleeping together again. Yet … she’s an enchantingly beautiful girl. And the thought of heading out into the cold, damp night and back to his depressing house now seems unbearable. Kerry can barely bring herself to speak to him, so really, what’s the harm in staying here? And so he spends the night, not on the sofa bed this time but in her vast, extravagantly-carved double bed. His finds himself kissing her soft, young mouth as she wraps her slender limbs around him, and it feels good, not being alone with his torturous thoughts. He’s too exhausted to care that he’ll have to show up at work in the same clothes tomorrow. Instead, he holds this sweet, pretty girl who likes chart music and Debenhams art, and this time, he doesn’t forget a thing.
When Kerry arrives at the redbrick terraced house, James greets her with a brief smile and his mobile jammed to his ear.
‘I manage to run things when
you’re
not there,’ he barks, beckoning her into the hallway.
Sorry
, he mouths with a broad shouldered shrug, turning to march into the kitchen and motioning for Kerry to follow as he continues his conversation. He jabs at a chair, indicating that she should sit. She does so, like an obedient hound, wondering if she might also be offered a biscuit.
As Kerry waits for him to finish, feeling a little stranded, she takes in the undeniable maleness of the sparse and functional room. These days, whilst she no longer registers the clutter in friends’ houses (it’s as unremarkable as chairs or carpeting), she never fails to register the absence of it. No children live here, that’s for sure. And that’s good, she decides, having wondered how she’d feel if a little boy or girl were being forced to part with their beloved pet.
‘So, there’s a queue,’ James barks into his phone. ‘I’d hazard a guess that they’re customers, Luke. I’d say that’s good. Yes, I know it’s hard to keep up with the orders but that’s the whole point, isn’t it? If they wanted quick they’d buy a pre-packaged sandwich in the newsagent’s …’ He glances at Kerry with another apologetic grimace and pushes back his slightly untidy light brown hair. Grey eyes, Kerry notes: kind eyes that crinkle appealingly, despite his current ill-humour. He’s a little older than her, she guesses – maybe early-to-mid forties. ‘I know Ben’s your friend,’ he goes on, ‘but we’re
not
hiring now, okay? No … no. Well, we’ll just have to manage, Luke. Look, I can’t discuss this right now.’
There’s a movement in the kitchen doorway, and Kerry turns to see a large, shaggy-haired, timid-looking black and white dog standing there. He is observing her with an amber-eyed gaze.
So this is Buddy. Part bearded collie, mostly unknown, according to James when she’d called again for more information, feeling unsatisfied by their initial exchange. Six years old, likes to run, play, fetch sticks and balls and be made a fuss of. Has been snipped, as James put it, so uninterested in passing females. (This relieved Kerry; she had been trying to erase the mental image of that dog from the book getting frisky with the old lady in the winged chair).
‘Hello, Buddy,’ she says gently, getting up to greet him as his owner goes on, apparently reminding the person on the phone to add basil to a greengrocer’s order. Buddy eyes Kerry nervously as if he’s just arrived at a party and is unsure about walking in.
‘Hey, boy,’ she says, his cue to turn and quickly pad away. ‘Buddy?’ she calls ineffectually into the hallway, but he fails to reappear.
‘Sorry about that.’ James has finished the call and shakes her hand rather formally.
‘That’s okay.’ She smiles.
‘I see you’ve met him.’ He glances over her shoulder into the hallway.
‘Yes, he seems a bit shy actually.’
‘Oh, he’ll be fine. Hang on a minute …’ He disappears into another room, returning with Buddy trotting timidly at his ankles looking up at James, as if fully aware that Kerry isn’t some random woman who has happened to drop by, but the person who’s come to take him away – forever.
‘Oh, he’s lovely,’ Kerry says, keeping her distance in case she startles him again.
‘Yes, he’s great. Very affectionate as I said on the phone …’
‘I have to admit, I don’t know anything about dogs, apart from what I’ve picked up from books and the internet. To be honest, most of it seems to be about the millions of things that can go wrong …’
‘Well, we’ve never had any problems,’ James says quickly as Buddy settles into a curled up position, not just at, but actually
on
his feet.
There’s an awkward pause which Kerry feels compelled to fill. ‘Er … how often d’you walk him?’ she asks.
‘Couple of times a day. I do a quick walk first thing, then another early afternoon … apart from that, he’ll potter about quite happily in the garden. He’s pretty low-maintenance really. You’ll hardly know he’s there.’
Another silence.
Ask me if I have a garden then
, Kerry muses.
Say something to show you actually care where he’s going, and what his life will be like.
‘And he’s never aggressive?’ she asks. ‘There’s no biting or snapping or anything? I’m sure he’ll be fine but I have to be sure. You see, I have two young children and I know some dogs can be weird around kids, especially if they’re not used to them.’ She doesn’t know that at all; she’s just saying whatever pops into her head.
‘No, he’s fine with children, and he’s never shown any aggression.’
‘And he’s trained and everything?’ Now Kerry feels as if she’s interviewing
him
.
‘Oh, yes,’ James says quickly.
‘I mean in the doing-his-business sense.’
‘He’s fine with all that. No problem at all.’
Kerry frowns. It doesn’t seem right, managing the handover in such a cold-hearted manner. But then, maybe James is desperately upset, and worried he’ll lose it if there’s a long, drawn-out goodbye. Perhaps, she decides, this chilliness is his way of coping.
‘He seems a bit nervous,’ she observes.
James bends down, ruffling behind Buddy’s soft, floppy ears. ‘He’s fine, aren’t you, boy? So how are you taking him? D’you have a car?’