Monday and Tuesday I was away seeing clients. I stayed away on the Monday night, after all there was nothing to go home for. I stayed away on the Tuesday night as well, but that was a little more unplanned.
I had phoned Greg Dickens of ITP, with the intention of meeting him and beginning to build some relationship with him which I thought was vital to the project. I reminded him that he had intended to buy me lunch, how about it now? His idea was that he would buy me dinner, but only if I could promise to make it late enough and alcoholic enough to warrant him staying in a hotel. OK, I said, somewhat dubiously, but he was the customer.
I needn't have worried. It turned out that he was a happily married man with two young children. But his wife was away visiting her father in Scotland, as he had just come out of hospital. Her mother had taken the opportunity to come and stay with Greg to look after the children. Unfortunately, his wife's mother and father were divorced, and this ex-wife took every opportunity to tell Greg all that was wrong with his father-in-law, and how her ******** shouldn't be visiting. Greg was in need of a break, an excuse to be away for the night.
So we went out to an excellent, and expensive, dinner at ITP's expense. Followed by an evening drinking and ending up in a lap-dancing and pole dancing club. Neither of us bought any lap dances, but Greg and myself got very ***** and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. I do remember Greg and myself pledging our life-long friendship to each other somewhere between the club and the taxi rank at about two o'clock in the morning.
I woke up with a horrible hangover, but feeling relaxed. That boys' night out was as good a stress buster as a visit to the gym. It just killed more brain cells.
I got back to the office mid-morning on Wednesday. I sat at my desk drinking a cup of coffee when Dave came in. He looked at me "Good night last night?" he asked, smiling.
Why do guys always enjoy their friend's hangovers? "Yes. Educational." I responded.
"What did you learn, other than alcoholic beverages give you a hangover?"
"I don't think I wish you to pursue this line of enquiry. But I have one of my own. Are you busy at the weekend?"
"Might be. Why?" he looked at me suspiciously.
"Because I need your body." I smiled "Mainly to help me carry crates and boxes and some furniture. I'm going to move into a flat down on River Mead."
"Class! Sure, I'm not doing anything particular. Maddy and me have had a parting of the ways. When?"
"I'd heard. Sunday?"
"Sure. What time? Who told you?"
"How about eleven o'clock. Then we can shift one load and take a pub lunch as a well deserved break. It should only take two runs in all." I chose to ignore his other question.
I phoned Rose to tell her I was ready to sign the lease for Blindside. Apparently it was in her office, waiting for me. So I went along at lunchtime and signed. So simple, so quick, a new phase of my life opens up.
Later in the day I went to find Mr Jameson, the office superintendent. I explained to him my problem, and within half an hour he was back in my office asking for my car keys, so that he could put a set of crates into it.
Then I phoned a van hire company, and booked a van for the weekend. It was a lot cheaper than I was expecting, which made a change.
Back home that evening, I started the job of packing up my clothes and the things that were obviously mine. I was surprised at how easy it was. Not a single heart string was plucked, it was a job to be done and I got on with it.
Thursday came and went in the office. I worked a bit late, but got back to the house by seven-thirty. As I came in the front door I was aware of a different atmosphere. The odd picture missing from the walls, the crates packed with clothes lined up in the hall. It was becoming just a house, slightly denuded of personal history.
I shut the front door. Then I thought, it would be more welcoming to Beth if I left it open. But then again, if it was shut she would have to knock or use her key. I wondered which, so I shut it. Beth pressed the bell at two minutes to eight, with her hands full of bags and holding a casserole dish. "Sorry I knocked, I couldn't get my keys out. Take this, there's more in the car."
Once in the hall, she looked round at the crates, at the bare patches on the walls, her face fell to sadness. She looked at me and her eyes filled with tears, she sniffed and straightened, "I've brought coq-au-vin, it just needs heating through." And she headed for the kitchen.
She busied herself in the kitchen, determinedly not looking at me. I watched her for a while. She may not be the most beautiful woman in the world, but she pressed my buttons. I was aware how graceful, she was, how her breasts moved softly under her summer dress, how her neck looked soft and vulnerable as she filled saucepans with water at the sink. But I was also aware that she was a total mystery to me.
I broke my own daydream to break the ice, to mention the unmentionable, "It seems like half a lifetime since we were both in this kitchen. I've come to think of that day as Fateful Friday." It was my half hearted attempt to be light about the core of our pain.
Beth looked round at me "It's a good name." she said quietly. Her eyes said so much more about hurt, remorse, and sadness.
"Have you decided what you will do? Are you going to come back here?"
"Yes, I guess so. I have no where else to go. Life with Mummy and Daddy is so full of things not being said, I think I'd rather be here by myself."
"How did they take it?" I asked
"Well, Daddy hasn't found a way to talk about it, yet. It'll take him a couple of weeks, but then we'll sit down for a heart to heart, but only when he has something to say."
"And your mother?"
"Ah. She's a bit more of a problem. She's happy to talk about it. In fact she talks about little else when we're alone. But I don't mind that, because I'm thinking of nothing else anyway. But she's promised not to interfere, but she would love to. So she sort of prowls round the edge looking for a place to jump in and help. She has a great belief that she can make it better, sort it out for me. Yet she is the one who really condemns me for what I did, she is very black and white about that. So it's a bit mixed with her." She looked at me and shrugged.
"Well, I guess that's what mothers do. I hear she's invited Phil and Denny over on Sunday." I thought I would let her know that I knew.
"Yes. I think its part of her prowling. She's just seeing if there's a way in through them. But don't worry about it, she knows that she's not allowed to really interfere, Daddy will stop her." She had plates and cutlery in her hand "Shall we eat in the dining room. This may be the last time we eat together in this house?"
"No. Let's eat in here. I'm not in the mood for formal dining." I answered.
She put the plates down on the kitchen table, and started arranging the cutlery. I went and picked up a bottle of wine from the rack and opened it. I got the wine glasses out of the cupboard, and put them on the table. She moved the salt and pepper to the table from the cabinet where they're stored. We worked in some familiar, choreographed ballet. We didn't talk.
Eventually she announced that it was ready. We sat down opposite each other.
"I thought I might take the small television, and I have to admit I'm tempted to take the hi-fi if you're sure you don't want it." I opened with the discussion we were here for.
"Oh do. Take want you want, Tim. I meant it. I know you'll leave me enough to live with. Are you going to take any furniture?"
"Well I'll take that little antique bureau that came from Mum and ***. I was thinking about that coffee table that we lost up in the spare bedroom, it doesn't go with this house and it might go in my new living room. But, other than that, I don't think so. Oh, I might take the laundry basket from the bathroom if it doesn't worry you, and some of the lamps."
"Oh Tim, I don't understand why you have to go." She started to cry and took a sip of wine to distract herself.
"It just hurts too much to live here. On Saturday, I opened the bedroom curtains and it was a beautiful day, and it all came flooding back to me, that afternoon when I saw you and Ken. Their swimming pool was staring back at me and laughing. It was a sort of day-mare. It was horrid. Everything I look at, everything I touch reminds me and I can't go on living with that."
She sat and listened to my answer, and then considered it. "I can understand that. But, in some perverse way, I think I would like to be surrounded by things that remind me of what we had. Going back to live in my old bedroom with Mummy and Daddy was like going back to a time before you existed to me. I need to have our things around. I guess it will fade in time."
"Well, I know it is actually fading with me already" I said that to comfort her, that we would both come through the pain, but then I realised it sounded that I was moving away from her, which I was, but tonight wasn't the time to say that, so I went on "You know that picture you gave me for my birthday, the one that you smuggled home from that long weekend we had in January?"
"Yes, it's in the sitting room, or have you moved it?"
"No, It's still there. When I came back from viewing this flat, and knowing it represented something clean, that would take me away from the pain of you and Ken, well I looked at it and it seemed to represent all that had gone wrong. I still loved it as a picture, but you must have bought it way back in January, after I'd raved about it in that window. You smuggled it back in the car with me there all the time. That seemed so loving and thoughtful Then you gave it to me on my birthday, and by then you were in the middle of your affair with Ken. Well, I thought that there was no way I could take it to the flat. But, I looked at it last night, and I thought 'It's just a picture, a picture I like, I'd be a fool to lose it just because of what you did.' So I'll take it. I'm over hating it."
"You are sure that we can go on talking, trying to rebuild something even after you move, aren't you Tim?
"Yes, Beth. I promise, I'm getting over hating you. I'm still angry that you chose to hurt me as you did, but I'm mainly just sad these days. Sad that my happiness was thrown away so lightly. You must have known what you were doing. You knew what risks you were taking." I stared at her.
"When you were a little boy and were doing something wrong, shop lifting a chocolate bar for a dare or something, did you really think about the possible consequences. You knew it was wrong, you knew you would be in trouble if caught, but I bet you didn't really follow all those thoughts to their logical conclusion, because you weren't going to get caught." She looked at me.
"But you weren't a child, Beth. You are a grown adult. You should have known." I felt my anger rise.
"Like a housebreaker believes he'll be caught and sent to prison? If it really worked like that for adults, the world would have a lot less crime. No, Tim, I didn't think about ending up like this."
"But, why did you do it? There must have been some reasons. Weren't you happy?"
"Yes, I was happy. I didn't know how happy I was, but I do now." She sounded bitter.
"I'm sorry Beth, I do still want you to talk about why and what you did."
"There's no point. It'll only hurt you more."
We stared at each other in a searching challenge. Neither of us conceded or dropped our eyes. So I tried another question "Well, tell me this: Did you and Ken ever do it in this house? In our bed?"
She continued to stare at me, but she blinked at my question "Yes and no. Yes we did it twice in this house, but always in the guest bedroom. I could say it was because I wanted to protect the sanctity of our bedroom, but it was more practical than that. I was scared you would notice if I changed the sheets on our bed, but you never went into the guest room from one weekend to the next." She hung her head, in defeat. But it was an honest answer, not the PR half truth that she might have invented.
"Well that solves one problem for me. I really wanted to take the duvet and bed linen from our room because they'll go better with the flat's décor. But I felt guilty about doing that, because they are the better quality and match our decoration. So I was going to take the guest room stuff. Now, there's no way I'm taking that. Sorry to ruin your décor, but I'll leave you to sleep in your shared bed. I guess it's appropriate to say you made it - you sleep in it." I shouldn't have said that, and I regretted it. The conversation was slipping out of my control.
Beth sat there, in quiet silence. She took my attack without comment. Instead she cleared our plates, and stood up. She returned to the table with dessert plates and a homemade bannoffee pie, my favourite.
"I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't do that."
"It's OK. I hate it and it seems so destructive of you, but I know I deserve it." She smiled, painfully.
I changed the subject, "Do you mind if I take the garden table and chairs and the barbeque?"
"I guess not. But I thought this was a flat?"
"It is, but it has a roof garden overlooking the river." I said.
"Do you think, Tim, that I could come and see it sometime. It tortures me to think of you living away and I can't even imagine where you are. I need to see you there. It would help me. Please."
"Yes, of course you can." I went on to tell her about Blindside, in as much detail as I could. She listened intently. And then she said "It sounds wonderful. I can see why you might want to go there. I'd still like to see it sometime. Has Phil and Denny seen it?"
"No, not yet. I thought they would at the weekend. I wanted their help to move in, but they can't do it. So I've got Dave from work to help me."
"So, you'll be gone by as soon as this weekend?"
"Well, give me Monday, in case I've forgotten something, but Yes."
"Oh." Was all she said, and then she sat in silence.
I broke it, as I finished my pie. I'd noticed that Beth had not even taken a slice. I returned to the purpose of the evening "You said I could have the barbeque and table and chairs. Can I have some of the pots from the patio, as well?"
"Sure, whatever. But you haven't the faintest idea what's in them or how to look after them. You're useless at looking after flowers, Tim." She sounded surprised.
"Well, Yes. I thought I'd just take the ones that I thought might look pretty on this roof terrace. A few of the big ones, with some little ones to put around them, and maybe a hanging basket. And I promise to look after them, I'll water them and everything...." I trailed off, realising that she was right, I was no gardener, I'd always just done what she'd told me to do in that department.
"But you don't know what the flowers are, how big they'll grow, what colours they'll be, how to feed them, even how to water them. Let alone which ones are annuals and which ones are perennials. Do you want me to come over and tell you?"
"No, I'll manage. I've just got to learn. Do you want a coffee?" I asked.
"Yes please." She stood up and started clearing the table, and I went about making some coffee. We were back to the choreographed ballet, the steps learned over ten happy years.
We took the coffee into the sitting room, I saw her notice the down turned photographs, but she didn't say anything.
Once we were settled, I turned to her, "Tell me, when you refused to come off the pill when I turned thirty, was that because of Ken? You couldn't risk it?"
She sat in silence thinking about my question, idly stirring the milk into her coffee. Then she looked up and said "Mummy keeps saying that this wouldn't have happened if we had children." I thought, 'here it comes, the PR red herring', but she continued "I don't know. As to why I didn't come off the pill then, and I know that's what we always agreed, it was something deeper than Ken, although he was part of it. Not because of my having sex with him. No, it was because I was in this sorry state where I was having an affair, I wasn't fit to be a mother. I was obviously too screwed up. There were no certainties in my life."
She looked up at me "Does that make sense?"
"No, not really. You said you always loved me, even through all of this. And that's a contradiction in itself. But surely you knew you wanted children with me, or had you lost sight of that as well?"
"No. I did know, all through the Ken period, that you were my only true life partner. Ken never entered my head in any meaningful position in my life. No, not wanting to get pregnant had more to do with me being in such a muddle." She looked at me, and obviously she could see I wasn't happy with her answer "Don't read too much into it Tim. Do you think it's sensible for a woman to get pregnant if there is any recent doubt about her life or her marriage, even if she is deeply committed. Look, I desperately want to reconcile with you now. I want to start building a new life with you, but I don't want children yet. I'd want to be sure that we are both certain that we are going to move forward together for years before I would commit to having children. It wouldn't be fair to bring them into a marriage that has the slightest cloud over it now, and it wasn't fair then."
"Um" was all I could say. I didn't like it, but at least it wasn't PR speak.
She looked at me, and sat up to say something new "Well I've tried to answer your question. Now answer mine. Explain to me why you are so convinced that we have no future, that it doesn't matter what I say or do, we must get divorced?"
I felt the same annoyance at being questioned on the obvious as I had felt when Rose had raised a similar thought. But, this time, I was determined to explain myself, and to explain it in a way that Beth would truly understand. I looked at her, this love of my life, this first class graduate in English Literature who had captured my heart all those years ago at university. Somewhat perversely I decided to play to her strengths and my weakness. I knew that Beth liked myths and fables, allegories and analogies.
So I put my coffee down and launched myself, "Let's say we had the most beautiful plate. A glorious and unique piece of Meissen or Royal Doulton say. Made to special order, the only one in the world. We, and everyone else for that matter, could admire it, enjoy it. But we could also use it. It was perfectly fine for eating a steak off. And then, one day and for no particular reason, someone smashes it. Well, we can glue it back together again. It might look roughly the same, but you'd have to ignore the glue lines. It would still take a steak, but it isn't quite as strong as it once was." I paused and looked at her "I think I'd rather throw the pieces away, and go and buy a new plate."
She sobbed. She stood up and said "I'm sorry, Tim." And she went out into the hall.
I thought she'd gone to the toilet, to compose herself. I thought maybe I'd made some sort of contact with my plate story. But she didn't come back, and I heard her car start up.
---
On Friday morning I got a call from Mary. Could I meet her that afternoon? Well, Yes. When and where? She suggested the Carlton Hotel for tea at four o'clock. OK.
I told Stella that I was disappearing at ten to four, but I would be back at about half past five. If anyone wanted to see me urgently, they could wait until then, or keep it 'til Monday.
I found Mary sitting in the lounge at the hotel with a full English tea laid out on the low table in front of her. I leant over and kissed her on both cheeks and sat down opposite her.
She smiled in welcome "I guess things aren't working out well between you and Beth?"
"Did you expect them to?" I wasn't that happy that Mary seemed to want to interfere in something that had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
She sighed and looked at me. "I'm in two minds about all of this." She started to pour me a cup of tea. "If anyone else had done what Beth has done I would say 'Get rid of the slut'. But she is my ********. I want her to be happy. But I can't and won't interfere. But I do need to understand her, so that I can support her through what is obviously a tragically unhappy period for her." She looked up at me.
"Go on." I felt a little ameliorated.
"Well, I know that Beth came to see you last night. She spent all day cooking to make sure she could take the perfect meal. She made three bannoffee pies before she got one that she was happy with. If you'd like another one...?" She smiled.
I just sat there, sipping my tea and waiting.
"Well" she went on "We heard her car come back. George and myself were on tenterhooks, waiting to find out what sort of mood she would be in. But she didn't come in. We didn't hear her at the front door even. Eventually, we went out to find her. She was sitting in her car crumpled over the steering wheel and in floods of tears. All she could say was 'I've lost him, Mummy' and a lot of incomprehensible sobs."
She looked at me, I don't know what she saw, but I wanted her to continue. "George sort of manhandled her out of the car, and got her into the sitting room and gave her a brandy. She still wasn't talking, or not in a way we could understand. It was mainly 'I've lost him forever' and something to do with a Meissen plate which we didn't understand at all. After half an hour of it, she calmed down a bit and I suggested that she should go to bed, that there was plenty of time to talk later. Well, we heard her still sobbing as we went to bed. And this morning she didn't come down at all. I knocked at her door, and she just told me to go away. That's when I phoned you. Then just before lunch she came down, looking dreadfully pale, and said she was going to work and she went off. George and myself are worried sick. I don't know what happened last night, but, please Tim, help me to help her."
She stopped and looked at me. I ate a smoked salmon finger sandwich. What was I to do. What happened between myself and Beth was nothing to do with Mary and George. I was rather glad that I'd obviously got through to Beth that we were at the end. At least she will really have to think about what she did, maybe she'll learn something. But I was faced with a mother, worried sick over her child. "I can only tell you what we did last night. I don't know what Beth thinks anymore, maybe I never did."
"Please, Tim...."
I told her the events of the previous evening, including my analogy of the Meissen plate, as well as I could remember it. Mary listened quietly and intently, a half eaten piece of Dundee cake in her hand. When I finished, she finished her cake and sat looking at me, then she smiled.
"What?" I asked.
"You've just explained something."
"I meant to. You asked me to." I was mystified.
"Oh. No. Not about Beth's mood. About your marriage." she looked at me. "You see, Tim. Us parents watch our children grow up. We know them, we understand them. But they then bring this stranger along and declare they want to spend the rest of their lives with this person. Now, I don't know about other parents, but I wanted to understand where the common ground was between you. What makes this relationship work. And you were a mystery to me, you always have been."
"Gee. Thanks." I said sarcastically
"No. Don't get offended. But Beth is a romantic. She's always loved poetry, myths, and fairy stories. She went to university to do English Literature. What was she doing with this man who was a mathematician? You are analytical, logical, you use rules. Even emotions you put in a pigeon hole marked Unpredictable. You accept them, live with them, but they don't follow the rules, do they?"
"So?"
"Well, then I realised that Beth uses rules as well. The rules of the English language. She understands and uses them well. So I could see how she gets to talk and be with you, but I never saw any understanding, any part of her world in you. You've just revealed that. No wonder you got through to Beth." she sat back, taking another piece of cake with a little smile and "I shouldn't really."
"I'm pleased to help." I smiled. I'm not sure her theory was true, but I guess from inside a relationship you see it differently.
"But you're wrong with your analogy, you know.." she observed.
"Tell me." I was interested.
"Well I think a marriage is two people, with a lot of sweat and hard work, building a house out of bricks and mud and straw. You work hard, and you build something, that if your lucky, is strong and you both think is far more beautiful than any Meissen plate could ever be. And you go on building it all your lives. George and myself are still building ours. And we think it's beautiful, it's got some odd features that even we can't remember why we built them like that, and we don't go into all of the rooms quite so often these days, if you know what I mean. But it still fit for purpose as they say, and we like it." she paused.
"Go on" I prompted.
"Well, in the house you and Beth built, Beth suddenly took a sledge hammer and knocked it all down one Friday morning. None of us knows why she did it, I'm not sure even she really knows. But you and Beth stand in the ruins. It's a pile of rubble. I suspect that some of the walls are still in one piece, but they've fallen over. Now she wants you to build it up again."
"You're wrong about the sledgehammer bit. She didn't knock it down in one mad morning's destruction. She spent three months going down to the cellar and scraping away at the mortar between the foundation stones. And then the lady next door came along on the Friday morning and blew it down with one puff of breath." I sat back, pleased with myself.
She considered what I had to say, "Would you like another cup of tea?"
"Yes, please" I said.
As she poured it she continued, "Anyway, your correction is accurate. But the real question is: Will you build it again? Or will you go off in the hope of finding another plot of land, and another builder's mate?"
"Taking your analogy, Beth and myself had a very beautiful house. I loved living in it. And she destroyed it, without a word to me, and she won't even tell me why. And I want it back, and I can't build it up again, or not with her."
"Oh, come on Tim, your brighter than that. You've got to accept that that house has gone. Yes it was wrong that Beth destroyed it. And Yes, she should explain herself. But it's gone. Whatever you build with her or someone else will be different. What is it they say these days, wake up and smell the coffee?"
"Yes, I know that Mary. I hate it, but I know it. But there is no point in building anything with Beth. Some of the bricks have been destroyed forever by her. They've crumbled away to dust. And even if we do build a new house, how am I going to know that she won't be down in the cellar again, scraping away?"
I drank my tea. Mary sat quietly, thinking.
"You don't Tim. There are no guarantees in life. For all I know, George might have had several scraping interludes in our cellar over the years. I don't know, but we go on building and I think we're both happy doing so. And can you guarantee that your new builder's mate, if you find her, will not do the same?"
"No, but she won't have a track record of doing it."
"No, but she won't have seen the pain and hurt that doing it causes either. She won't have had the experience of having stood in the rubble of her own making."
"I'm sorry Mary. We're not going to agree on this one. Let's leave it for this afternoon."
We finished our tea, and went our separate ways. I'm not sure what I felt as I walked back to the office. I think I was slightly miffed at having Mary question my analysis.
As I got to the office I met a bunch of the department heading out, including Dave. I looked at my watch. It was ten to six. Was I going over the road? Just for a quick one I said, I've got lots of packing to do. I went up to my office, there were a couple of non-urgent messages, nothing that couldn't wait. So I went to the pub.
My department were in a group and already had their drinks by the time I got there. As far as I could see, the only others from the company in there were Don McIntyre holding court to his own marketing team, standing round in a separate group. Well we can't have marketing talking to the lowly guys who give them something to sell, after all. I went and got myself a drink.
As I turned from the bar, pint in hand, Dave came over "What happened to you, then? You disappeared."
"I had afternoon tea with my mother-in-law at the Carlton Hotel, if you want to know."
Dave looked aghast. "Well, I'm glad to hear that the standards of civilised behaviour are being maintained, whilst the bullets fly over head!"
"Well it was bit like that, if you must know. She's a wily old bird, is Mary. She can really, but oh so gently, campaign for her errant ********. She gave me food for thought, but I have to laugh at the way she did it. I can see where Beth gets her PR talent from." Talking to Dave was beginning to crystallize my thoughts. I took a long draught of my beer.
I looked at Dave "What do you know about flowers?"
"What flowers that grow in the spring tra la? That sort of flowers?"
"Yes."
"Well I know that roses rate higher than carnations in the saying sorry stakes. You can get away with blue murder if they're red roses. Why?"
"Not like that. I want to take some of the patio pots of flowers to my new place. But Beth accused me of not knowing which ones to choose. So I've got to sort of get it right. It's a matter of pride."
At that point there was a general waving of hands and shouts of farewell as the marketing team left. All except Alice, that is. She headed towards myself and Dave.
"Where's that lot going? We don't often see the sales team leave the pub this early on a Friday." asked Dave, when she approached.
"Oh, there off to play a game of baseball against a team from C&J Bank. It sounded like an excuse for the boys to tell silly stories and get very *****. Not my scene."
"Well, they could have invited me." Dave sounded peeved.
"Why do you play baseball?" asked Alice, looking surprised.
"No, but I'm very good at getting ***** and telling silly stories." We both looked at him with mock disgust.
I turned to Alice "Alice, you're a lady who knows what's what. How are you on patio flowers?"
"Very good. *** used to own a garden centre. Why?"
"Nothing. I just wondered what you were doing on Sunday?" I replied smiling.
---
Saturday was a busy day of packing. I went down to Blindside once, to look around on my own, and to come back with a couple of fresh ideas of things to take. I'd given up worrying about upsetting Beth with what I was going to take. If there was anything she wanted back, well it was only five miles down the road.
Sunday, Dave and Alice turned up in one car. And we started. We made a trip with a full van, and then we tried my new local, the Black Swan. It turned out to very good, which was a surprise. I remember trying it once, when Beth and myself first moved here, and it was awful. But a new landlord and ...
Alice had given her advice on the pots, and with the rest of the stuff, the roof terrace was looking good. Alice wanted to put some pots at the foot of the outside staircase, but I refused. It didn't seem such a good idea to have pots where builders were working. She also quietly arranged things in the new flat, so that everything looked good, suggesting I take things that would harmonise colours and make the best of things that didn't quite match. She also spotted that the cushions from the guest room would look great on the new sofa!
Both Alice and Dave were wonderful, cheerful and helpful, but I was also aware that they realised that this whole day was devoted to breaking up what had been a very happy home.
By five o'clock I was fully installed, and we were sitting in the living room, exhausted but satisfied, drinking a cup of tea.
Dave looked across at me "How much you paying for this place? Its rather good, definitely better than mine."
I told him, without telling him it was half rent. "Bloody hell, Tim. That's a lot less than I pay. You jammy bugger!"
I eased his pain by admitting to the half rent. He looked mollified, but he did say it was still a good deal, which pleased me. He took some more tea, and looked at me again "So how did you know I'd split with Maddy?"
"Ah! You don't know how close you came to either making or breaking your career, and I'm not sure which." And I told him the story. That led to Alice asking about Dave's current status, and it then struck me as odd that they hadn't ever got together. He chased every available woman, and there was Alice working in the same company, and to the best of my knowledge they'd never got together. So I asked.
Dave sort of went quiet, and ate a biscuit. So I looked at Alice, there was obviously a story here somewhere, perhaps it had to wait until I got one of them on my own. But Alice answered "Well, Dave did try, within my first month at TGI, in fact I think it was the first time I actually went to the pub on a Friday night. But his reputation had got to me before that. In fairness, it was more to do with the fact that I'd just come out of a bad bad phase of my life, the last thing I needed was a date, even with a nice guy like Dave."
"Oh, I'm a nice guy now am I?" said Dave, smiling. "At the time, I didn't stand a chance, even if I was the last man on earth, if I remember right, Alice?"
"Did I say that. Oh God. I'm sorry. That's an awful thing to say. But I was pretty low and very off men at that time. I've got a better, more balanced view these days, and I keep to a set of good rules."
"What rules like I'd get spanked if I broke them?" I asked jokingly, trying to break into a conversation that was becoming exclusive.
"No, rules like only date guys where something might be meaningful. No desperate one night stands. In fact, no stand at all until the third date at the earliest."
"Does carrying pots around at your behest count as a date" asked Dave, now well into flirting mode.
"Maybe, maybe not." came from Alice, with a look that joined him in the flirting stakes.
Dave glanced at me, and decided that now was not the time or place. "So, Tim, are you getting a new car to go with your new found position?"
"Yup."
"What are you going to get. And don't make it too good, I'm already jealous of this flat."
"Well, I sneaked a BMW Z4 out of Charlie. I think I caught him with a weak chink in his armour."
"Nice. Suits your new image. That and this flat, you should be giving me some real competition." He smiled at me.
Alice looked at me. "No, Tim's the nice guy sort. You're the challenge, Dave."
We chatted on, I decided that the bottle of champagne that I'd brought, That Bottle, needed opening. And we made short work of drinking it, with toasts to my new life, my new flat, my new car, my new office, my new secretary (whoever she might be), and even to the pots on the roof terrace.
Then someone said, what about some food. I said I hadn't got much in. So they started to discuss where to eat out. Chinese? Italian? Indian? English pub? In the end, the chilli at Not Steinbeck's was chosen by both of them, I was told I couldn't vote because I'd never been there.
I didn't fancy that. I had had a good day; I was in my new flat, I didn't need the thoughts that Not Steinbeck's might encourage. And anyway I quite fancied being in the flat all by myself. So I let them go off, and leave me in peace.
As the sun was setting, I was standing on my terrace, watching the river and thinking philosophical thoughts about how I'd ended up here, on how my life was moving on, on how I could imagine leaving Beth behind and all she meant to me, when my phone rang. It was Phil.
"Yes, Phil."
"What happened to you and Beth on Thursday?"
"Not a lot. Why?"
"Well, she's terribly upset. For the first time she really seems to believe that you're going to divorce. Mary says she's a lot better now than when she came home on Thursday evening. But, God, she's a mess."
I gave him a quick summary of Thursday evening, and of my meeting with Mary on Friday.
Phil interrupted me, "I don't know what this is about, but maybe it goes back to that meeting you had with Mary. She asked me to ask you 'Where are you going to start building?' It didn't make sense to me."
"Don't worry, Phil, it wouldn't. I'll explain it all to you when I see you. But, in the meantime, if you see Mary, tell her I'm not building, I'm at Blindside Trafalgar House, and it's kitted out for one, and doesn't need building. But I'm happy to talk to anyone who has a building project in mind. And over the coming months I expect I'll start spotting some possible applicants. So if she knows of anyone who might like to apply, they should get in quick before it's too late."
I had phoned Greg Dickens of ITP, with the intention of meeting him and beginning to build some relationship with him which I thought was vital to the project. I reminded him that he had intended to buy me lunch, how about it now? His idea was that he would buy me dinner, but only if I could promise to make it late enough and alcoholic enough to warrant him staying in a hotel. OK, I said, somewhat dubiously, but he was the customer.
I needn't have worried. It turned out that he was a happily married man with two young children. But his wife was away visiting her father in Scotland, as he had just come out of hospital. Her mother had taken the opportunity to come and stay with Greg to look after the children. Unfortunately, his wife's mother and father were divorced, and this ex-wife took every opportunity to tell Greg all that was wrong with his father-in-law, and how her ******** shouldn't be visiting. Greg was in need of a break, an excuse to be away for the night.
So we went out to an excellent, and expensive, dinner at ITP's expense. Followed by an evening drinking and ending up in a lap-dancing and pole dancing club. Neither of us bought any lap dances, but Greg and myself got very ***** and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. I do remember Greg and myself pledging our life-long friendship to each other somewhere between the club and the taxi rank at about two o'clock in the morning.
I woke up with a horrible hangover, but feeling relaxed. That boys' night out was as good a stress buster as a visit to the gym. It just killed more brain cells.
I got back to the office mid-morning on Wednesday. I sat at my desk drinking a cup of coffee when Dave came in. He looked at me "Good night last night?" he asked, smiling.
Why do guys always enjoy their friend's hangovers? "Yes. Educational." I responded.
"What did you learn, other than alcoholic beverages give you a hangover?"
"I don't think I wish you to pursue this line of enquiry. But I have one of my own. Are you busy at the weekend?"
"Might be. Why?" he looked at me suspiciously.
"Because I need your body." I smiled "Mainly to help me carry crates and boxes and some furniture. I'm going to move into a flat down on River Mead."
"Class! Sure, I'm not doing anything particular. Maddy and me have had a parting of the ways. When?"
"I'd heard. Sunday?"
"Sure. What time? Who told you?"
"How about eleven o'clock. Then we can shift one load and take a pub lunch as a well deserved break. It should only take two runs in all." I chose to ignore his other question.
I phoned Rose to tell her I was ready to sign the lease for Blindside. Apparently it was in her office, waiting for me. So I went along at lunchtime and signed. So simple, so quick, a new phase of my life opens up.
Later in the day I went to find Mr Jameson, the office superintendent. I explained to him my problem, and within half an hour he was back in my office asking for my car keys, so that he could put a set of crates into it.
Then I phoned a van hire company, and booked a van for the weekend. It was a lot cheaper than I was expecting, which made a change.
Back home that evening, I started the job of packing up my clothes and the things that were obviously mine. I was surprised at how easy it was. Not a single heart string was plucked, it was a job to be done and I got on with it.
Thursday came and went in the office. I worked a bit late, but got back to the house by seven-thirty. As I came in the front door I was aware of a different atmosphere. The odd picture missing from the walls, the crates packed with clothes lined up in the hall. It was becoming just a house, slightly denuded of personal history.
I shut the front door. Then I thought, it would be more welcoming to Beth if I left it open. But then again, if it was shut she would have to knock or use her key. I wondered which, so I shut it. Beth pressed the bell at two minutes to eight, with her hands full of bags and holding a casserole dish. "Sorry I knocked, I couldn't get my keys out. Take this, there's more in the car."
Once in the hall, she looked round at the crates, at the bare patches on the walls, her face fell to sadness. She looked at me and her eyes filled with tears, she sniffed and straightened, "I've brought coq-au-vin, it just needs heating through." And she headed for the kitchen.
She busied herself in the kitchen, determinedly not looking at me. I watched her for a while. She may not be the most beautiful woman in the world, but she pressed my buttons. I was aware how graceful, she was, how her breasts moved softly under her summer dress, how her neck looked soft and vulnerable as she filled saucepans with water at the sink. But I was also aware that she was a total mystery to me.
I broke my own daydream to break the ice, to mention the unmentionable, "It seems like half a lifetime since we were both in this kitchen. I've come to think of that day as Fateful Friday." It was my half hearted attempt to be light about the core of our pain.
Beth looked round at me "It's a good name." she said quietly. Her eyes said so much more about hurt, remorse, and sadness.
"Have you decided what you will do? Are you going to come back here?"
"Yes, I guess so. I have no where else to go. Life with Mummy and Daddy is so full of things not being said, I think I'd rather be here by myself."
"How did they take it?" I asked
"Well, Daddy hasn't found a way to talk about it, yet. It'll take him a couple of weeks, but then we'll sit down for a heart to heart, but only when he has something to say."
"And your mother?"
"Ah. She's a bit more of a problem. She's happy to talk about it. In fact she talks about little else when we're alone. But I don't mind that, because I'm thinking of nothing else anyway. But she's promised not to interfere, but she would love to. So she sort of prowls round the edge looking for a place to jump in and help. She has a great belief that she can make it better, sort it out for me. Yet she is the one who really condemns me for what I did, she is very black and white about that. So it's a bit mixed with her." She looked at me and shrugged.
"Well, I guess that's what mothers do. I hear she's invited Phil and Denny over on Sunday." I thought I would let her know that I knew.
"Yes. I think its part of her prowling. She's just seeing if there's a way in through them. But don't worry about it, she knows that she's not allowed to really interfere, Daddy will stop her." She had plates and cutlery in her hand "Shall we eat in the dining room. This may be the last time we eat together in this house?"
"No. Let's eat in here. I'm not in the mood for formal dining." I answered.
She put the plates down on the kitchen table, and started arranging the cutlery. I went and picked up a bottle of wine from the rack and opened it. I got the wine glasses out of the cupboard, and put them on the table. She moved the salt and pepper to the table from the cabinet where they're stored. We worked in some familiar, choreographed ballet. We didn't talk.
Eventually she announced that it was ready. We sat down opposite each other.
"I thought I might take the small television, and I have to admit I'm tempted to take the hi-fi if you're sure you don't want it." I opened with the discussion we were here for.
"Oh do. Take want you want, Tim. I meant it. I know you'll leave me enough to live with. Are you going to take any furniture?"
"Well I'll take that little antique bureau that came from Mum and ***. I was thinking about that coffee table that we lost up in the spare bedroom, it doesn't go with this house and it might go in my new living room. But, other than that, I don't think so. Oh, I might take the laundry basket from the bathroom if it doesn't worry you, and some of the lamps."
"Oh Tim, I don't understand why you have to go." She started to cry and took a sip of wine to distract herself.
"It just hurts too much to live here. On Saturday, I opened the bedroom curtains and it was a beautiful day, and it all came flooding back to me, that afternoon when I saw you and Ken. Their swimming pool was staring back at me and laughing. It was a sort of day-mare. It was horrid. Everything I look at, everything I touch reminds me and I can't go on living with that."
She sat and listened to my answer, and then considered it. "I can understand that. But, in some perverse way, I think I would like to be surrounded by things that remind me of what we had. Going back to live in my old bedroom with Mummy and Daddy was like going back to a time before you existed to me. I need to have our things around. I guess it will fade in time."
"Well, I know it is actually fading with me already" I said that to comfort her, that we would both come through the pain, but then I realised it sounded that I was moving away from her, which I was, but tonight wasn't the time to say that, so I went on "You know that picture you gave me for my birthday, the one that you smuggled home from that long weekend we had in January?"
"Yes, it's in the sitting room, or have you moved it?"
"No, It's still there. When I came back from viewing this flat, and knowing it represented something clean, that would take me away from the pain of you and Ken, well I looked at it and it seemed to represent all that had gone wrong. I still loved it as a picture, but you must have bought it way back in January, after I'd raved about it in that window. You smuggled it back in the car with me there all the time. That seemed so loving and thoughtful Then you gave it to me on my birthday, and by then you were in the middle of your affair with Ken. Well, I thought that there was no way I could take it to the flat. But, I looked at it last night, and I thought 'It's just a picture, a picture I like, I'd be a fool to lose it just because of what you did.' So I'll take it. I'm over hating it."
"You are sure that we can go on talking, trying to rebuild something even after you move, aren't you Tim?
"Yes, Beth. I promise, I'm getting over hating you. I'm still angry that you chose to hurt me as you did, but I'm mainly just sad these days. Sad that my happiness was thrown away so lightly. You must have known what you were doing. You knew what risks you were taking." I stared at her.
"When you were a little boy and were doing something wrong, shop lifting a chocolate bar for a dare or something, did you really think about the possible consequences. You knew it was wrong, you knew you would be in trouble if caught, but I bet you didn't really follow all those thoughts to their logical conclusion, because you weren't going to get caught." She looked at me.
"But you weren't a child, Beth. You are a grown adult. You should have known." I felt my anger rise.
"Like a housebreaker believes he'll be caught and sent to prison? If it really worked like that for adults, the world would have a lot less crime. No, Tim, I didn't think about ending up like this."
"But, why did you do it? There must have been some reasons. Weren't you happy?"
"Yes, I was happy. I didn't know how happy I was, but I do now." She sounded bitter.
"I'm sorry Beth, I do still want you to talk about why and what you did."
"There's no point. It'll only hurt you more."
We stared at each other in a searching challenge. Neither of us conceded or dropped our eyes. So I tried another question "Well, tell me this: Did you and Ken ever do it in this house? In our bed?"
She continued to stare at me, but she blinked at my question "Yes and no. Yes we did it twice in this house, but always in the guest bedroom. I could say it was because I wanted to protect the sanctity of our bedroom, but it was more practical than that. I was scared you would notice if I changed the sheets on our bed, but you never went into the guest room from one weekend to the next." She hung her head, in defeat. But it was an honest answer, not the PR half truth that she might have invented.
"Well that solves one problem for me. I really wanted to take the duvet and bed linen from our room because they'll go better with the flat's décor. But I felt guilty about doing that, because they are the better quality and match our decoration. So I was going to take the guest room stuff. Now, there's no way I'm taking that. Sorry to ruin your décor, but I'll leave you to sleep in your shared bed. I guess it's appropriate to say you made it - you sleep in it." I shouldn't have said that, and I regretted it. The conversation was slipping out of my control.
Beth sat there, in quiet silence. She took my attack without comment. Instead she cleared our plates, and stood up. She returned to the table with dessert plates and a homemade bannoffee pie, my favourite.
"I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't do that."
"It's OK. I hate it and it seems so destructive of you, but I know I deserve it." She smiled, painfully.
I changed the subject, "Do you mind if I take the garden table and chairs and the barbeque?"
"I guess not. But I thought this was a flat?"
"It is, but it has a roof garden overlooking the river." I said.
"Do you think, Tim, that I could come and see it sometime. It tortures me to think of you living away and I can't even imagine where you are. I need to see you there. It would help me. Please."
"Yes, of course you can." I went on to tell her about Blindside, in as much detail as I could. She listened intently. And then she said "It sounds wonderful. I can see why you might want to go there. I'd still like to see it sometime. Has Phil and Denny seen it?"
"No, not yet. I thought they would at the weekend. I wanted their help to move in, but they can't do it. So I've got Dave from work to help me."
"So, you'll be gone by as soon as this weekend?"
"Well, give me Monday, in case I've forgotten something, but Yes."
"Oh." Was all she said, and then she sat in silence.
I broke it, as I finished my pie. I'd noticed that Beth had not even taken a slice. I returned to the purpose of the evening "You said I could have the barbeque and table and chairs. Can I have some of the pots from the patio, as well?"
"Sure, whatever. But you haven't the faintest idea what's in them or how to look after them. You're useless at looking after flowers, Tim." She sounded surprised.
"Well, Yes. I thought I'd just take the ones that I thought might look pretty on this roof terrace. A few of the big ones, with some little ones to put around them, and maybe a hanging basket. And I promise to look after them, I'll water them and everything...." I trailed off, realising that she was right, I was no gardener, I'd always just done what she'd told me to do in that department.
"But you don't know what the flowers are, how big they'll grow, what colours they'll be, how to feed them, even how to water them. Let alone which ones are annuals and which ones are perennials. Do you want me to come over and tell you?"
"No, I'll manage. I've just got to learn. Do you want a coffee?" I asked.
"Yes please." She stood up and started clearing the table, and I went about making some coffee. We were back to the choreographed ballet, the steps learned over ten happy years.
We took the coffee into the sitting room, I saw her notice the down turned photographs, but she didn't say anything.
Once we were settled, I turned to her, "Tell me, when you refused to come off the pill when I turned thirty, was that because of Ken? You couldn't risk it?"
She sat in silence thinking about my question, idly stirring the milk into her coffee. Then she looked up and said "Mummy keeps saying that this wouldn't have happened if we had children." I thought, 'here it comes, the PR red herring', but she continued "I don't know. As to why I didn't come off the pill then, and I know that's what we always agreed, it was something deeper than Ken, although he was part of it. Not because of my having sex with him. No, it was because I was in this sorry state where I was having an affair, I wasn't fit to be a mother. I was obviously too screwed up. There were no certainties in my life."
She looked up at me "Does that make sense?"
"No, not really. You said you always loved me, even through all of this. And that's a contradiction in itself. But surely you knew you wanted children with me, or had you lost sight of that as well?"
"No. I did know, all through the Ken period, that you were my only true life partner. Ken never entered my head in any meaningful position in my life. No, not wanting to get pregnant had more to do with me being in such a muddle." She looked at me, and obviously she could see I wasn't happy with her answer "Don't read too much into it Tim. Do you think it's sensible for a woman to get pregnant if there is any recent doubt about her life or her marriage, even if she is deeply committed. Look, I desperately want to reconcile with you now. I want to start building a new life with you, but I don't want children yet. I'd want to be sure that we are both certain that we are going to move forward together for years before I would commit to having children. It wouldn't be fair to bring them into a marriage that has the slightest cloud over it now, and it wasn't fair then."
"Um" was all I could say. I didn't like it, but at least it wasn't PR speak.
She looked at me, and sat up to say something new "Well I've tried to answer your question. Now answer mine. Explain to me why you are so convinced that we have no future, that it doesn't matter what I say or do, we must get divorced?"
I felt the same annoyance at being questioned on the obvious as I had felt when Rose had raised a similar thought. But, this time, I was determined to explain myself, and to explain it in a way that Beth would truly understand. I looked at her, this love of my life, this first class graduate in English Literature who had captured my heart all those years ago at university. Somewhat perversely I decided to play to her strengths and my weakness. I knew that Beth liked myths and fables, allegories and analogies.
So I put my coffee down and launched myself, "Let's say we had the most beautiful plate. A glorious and unique piece of Meissen or Royal Doulton say. Made to special order, the only one in the world. We, and everyone else for that matter, could admire it, enjoy it. But we could also use it. It was perfectly fine for eating a steak off. And then, one day and for no particular reason, someone smashes it. Well, we can glue it back together again. It might look roughly the same, but you'd have to ignore the glue lines. It would still take a steak, but it isn't quite as strong as it once was." I paused and looked at her "I think I'd rather throw the pieces away, and go and buy a new plate."
She sobbed. She stood up and said "I'm sorry, Tim." And she went out into the hall.
I thought she'd gone to the toilet, to compose herself. I thought maybe I'd made some sort of contact with my plate story. But she didn't come back, and I heard her car start up.
---
On Friday morning I got a call from Mary. Could I meet her that afternoon? Well, Yes. When and where? She suggested the Carlton Hotel for tea at four o'clock. OK.
I told Stella that I was disappearing at ten to four, but I would be back at about half past five. If anyone wanted to see me urgently, they could wait until then, or keep it 'til Monday.
I found Mary sitting in the lounge at the hotel with a full English tea laid out on the low table in front of her. I leant over and kissed her on both cheeks and sat down opposite her.
She smiled in welcome "I guess things aren't working out well between you and Beth?"
"Did you expect them to?" I wasn't that happy that Mary seemed to want to interfere in something that had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
She sighed and looked at me. "I'm in two minds about all of this." She started to pour me a cup of tea. "If anyone else had done what Beth has done I would say 'Get rid of the slut'. But she is my ********. I want her to be happy. But I can't and won't interfere. But I do need to understand her, so that I can support her through what is obviously a tragically unhappy period for her." She looked up at me.
"Go on." I felt a little ameliorated.
"Well, I know that Beth came to see you last night. She spent all day cooking to make sure she could take the perfect meal. She made three bannoffee pies before she got one that she was happy with. If you'd like another one...?" She smiled.
I just sat there, sipping my tea and waiting.
"Well" she went on "We heard her car come back. George and myself were on tenterhooks, waiting to find out what sort of mood she would be in. But she didn't come in. We didn't hear her at the front door even. Eventually, we went out to find her. She was sitting in her car crumpled over the steering wheel and in floods of tears. All she could say was 'I've lost him, Mummy' and a lot of incomprehensible sobs."
She looked at me, I don't know what she saw, but I wanted her to continue. "George sort of manhandled her out of the car, and got her into the sitting room and gave her a brandy. She still wasn't talking, or not in a way we could understand. It was mainly 'I've lost him forever' and something to do with a Meissen plate which we didn't understand at all. After half an hour of it, she calmed down a bit and I suggested that she should go to bed, that there was plenty of time to talk later. Well, we heard her still sobbing as we went to bed. And this morning she didn't come down at all. I knocked at her door, and she just told me to go away. That's when I phoned you. Then just before lunch she came down, looking dreadfully pale, and said she was going to work and she went off. George and myself are worried sick. I don't know what happened last night, but, please Tim, help me to help her."
She stopped and looked at me. I ate a smoked salmon finger sandwich. What was I to do. What happened between myself and Beth was nothing to do with Mary and George. I was rather glad that I'd obviously got through to Beth that we were at the end. At least she will really have to think about what she did, maybe she'll learn something. But I was faced with a mother, worried sick over her child. "I can only tell you what we did last night. I don't know what Beth thinks anymore, maybe I never did."
"Please, Tim...."
I told her the events of the previous evening, including my analogy of the Meissen plate, as well as I could remember it. Mary listened quietly and intently, a half eaten piece of Dundee cake in her hand. When I finished, she finished her cake and sat looking at me, then she smiled.
"What?" I asked.
"You've just explained something."
"I meant to. You asked me to." I was mystified.
"Oh. No. Not about Beth's mood. About your marriage." she looked at me. "You see, Tim. Us parents watch our children grow up. We know them, we understand them. But they then bring this stranger along and declare they want to spend the rest of their lives with this person. Now, I don't know about other parents, but I wanted to understand where the common ground was between you. What makes this relationship work. And you were a mystery to me, you always have been."
"Gee. Thanks." I said sarcastically
"No. Don't get offended. But Beth is a romantic. She's always loved poetry, myths, and fairy stories. She went to university to do English Literature. What was she doing with this man who was a mathematician? You are analytical, logical, you use rules. Even emotions you put in a pigeon hole marked Unpredictable. You accept them, live with them, but they don't follow the rules, do they?"
"So?"
"Well, then I realised that Beth uses rules as well. The rules of the English language. She understands and uses them well. So I could see how she gets to talk and be with you, but I never saw any understanding, any part of her world in you. You've just revealed that. No wonder you got through to Beth." she sat back, taking another piece of cake with a little smile and "I shouldn't really."
"I'm pleased to help." I smiled. I'm not sure her theory was true, but I guess from inside a relationship you see it differently.
"But you're wrong with your analogy, you know.." she observed.
"Tell me." I was interested.
"Well I think a marriage is two people, with a lot of sweat and hard work, building a house out of bricks and mud and straw. You work hard, and you build something, that if your lucky, is strong and you both think is far more beautiful than any Meissen plate could ever be. And you go on building it all your lives. George and myself are still building ours. And we think it's beautiful, it's got some odd features that even we can't remember why we built them like that, and we don't go into all of the rooms quite so often these days, if you know what I mean. But it still fit for purpose as they say, and we like it." she paused.
"Go on" I prompted.
"Well, in the house you and Beth built, Beth suddenly took a sledge hammer and knocked it all down one Friday morning. None of us knows why she did it, I'm not sure even she really knows. But you and Beth stand in the ruins. It's a pile of rubble. I suspect that some of the walls are still in one piece, but they've fallen over. Now she wants you to build it up again."
"You're wrong about the sledgehammer bit. She didn't knock it down in one mad morning's destruction. She spent three months going down to the cellar and scraping away at the mortar between the foundation stones. And then the lady next door came along on the Friday morning and blew it down with one puff of breath." I sat back, pleased with myself.
She considered what I had to say, "Would you like another cup of tea?"
"Yes, please" I said.
As she poured it she continued, "Anyway, your correction is accurate. But the real question is: Will you build it again? Or will you go off in the hope of finding another plot of land, and another builder's mate?"
"Taking your analogy, Beth and myself had a very beautiful house. I loved living in it. And she destroyed it, without a word to me, and she won't even tell me why. And I want it back, and I can't build it up again, or not with her."
"Oh, come on Tim, your brighter than that. You've got to accept that that house has gone. Yes it was wrong that Beth destroyed it. And Yes, she should explain herself. But it's gone. Whatever you build with her or someone else will be different. What is it they say these days, wake up and smell the coffee?"
"Yes, I know that Mary. I hate it, but I know it. But there is no point in building anything with Beth. Some of the bricks have been destroyed forever by her. They've crumbled away to dust. And even if we do build a new house, how am I going to know that she won't be down in the cellar again, scraping away?"
I drank my tea. Mary sat quietly, thinking.
"You don't Tim. There are no guarantees in life. For all I know, George might have had several scraping interludes in our cellar over the years. I don't know, but we go on building and I think we're both happy doing so. And can you guarantee that your new builder's mate, if you find her, will not do the same?"
"No, but she won't have a track record of doing it."
"No, but she won't have seen the pain and hurt that doing it causes either. She won't have had the experience of having stood in the rubble of her own making."
"I'm sorry Mary. We're not going to agree on this one. Let's leave it for this afternoon."
We finished our tea, and went our separate ways. I'm not sure what I felt as I walked back to the office. I think I was slightly miffed at having Mary question my analysis.
As I got to the office I met a bunch of the department heading out, including Dave. I looked at my watch. It was ten to six. Was I going over the road? Just for a quick one I said, I've got lots of packing to do. I went up to my office, there were a couple of non-urgent messages, nothing that couldn't wait. So I went to the pub.
My department were in a group and already had their drinks by the time I got there. As far as I could see, the only others from the company in there were Don McIntyre holding court to his own marketing team, standing round in a separate group. Well we can't have marketing talking to the lowly guys who give them something to sell, after all. I went and got myself a drink.
As I turned from the bar, pint in hand, Dave came over "What happened to you, then? You disappeared."
"I had afternoon tea with my mother-in-law at the Carlton Hotel, if you want to know."
Dave looked aghast. "Well, I'm glad to hear that the standards of civilised behaviour are being maintained, whilst the bullets fly over head!"
"Well it was bit like that, if you must know. She's a wily old bird, is Mary. She can really, but oh so gently, campaign for her errant ********. She gave me food for thought, but I have to laugh at the way she did it. I can see where Beth gets her PR talent from." Talking to Dave was beginning to crystallize my thoughts. I took a long draught of my beer.
I looked at Dave "What do you know about flowers?"
"What flowers that grow in the spring tra la? That sort of flowers?"
"Yes."
"Well I know that roses rate higher than carnations in the saying sorry stakes. You can get away with blue murder if they're red roses. Why?"
"Not like that. I want to take some of the patio pots of flowers to my new place. But Beth accused me of not knowing which ones to choose. So I've got to sort of get it right. It's a matter of pride."
At that point there was a general waving of hands and shouts of farewell as the marketing team left. All except Alice, that is. She headed towards myself and Dave.
"Where's that lot going? We don't often see the sales team leave the pub this early on a Friday." asked Dave, when she approached.
"Oh, there off to play a game of baseball against a team from C&J Bank. It sounded like an excuse for the boys to tell silly stories and get very *****. Not my scene."
"Well, they could have invited me." Dave sounded peeved.
"Why do you play baseball?" asked Alice, looking surprised.
"No, but I'm very good at getting ***** and telling silly stories." We both looked at him with mock disgust.
I turned to Alice "Alice, you're a lady who knows what's what. How are you on patio flowers?"
"Very good. *** used to own a garden centre. Why?"
"Nothing. I just wondered what you were doing on Sunday?" I replied smiling.
---
Saturday was a busy day of packing. I went down to Blindside once, to look around on my own, and to come back with a couple of fresh ideas of things to take. I'd given up worrying about upsetting Beth with what I was going to take. If there was anything she wanted back, well it was only five miles down the road.
Sunday, Dave and Alice turned up in one car. And we started. We made a trip with a full van, and then we tried my new local, the Black Swan. It turned out to very good, which was a surprise. I remember trying it once, when Beth and myself first moved here, and it was awful. But a new landlord and ...
Alice had given her advice on the pots, and with the rest of the stuff, the roof terrace was looking good. Alice wanted to put some pots at the foot of the outside staircase, but I refused. It didn't seem such a good idea to have pots where builders were working. She also quietly arranged things in the new flat, so that everything looked good, suggesting I take things that would harmonise colours and make the best of things that didn't quite match. She also spotted that the cushions from the guest room would look great on the new sofa!
Both Alice and Dave were wonderful, cheerful and helpful, but I was also aware that they realised that this whole day was devoted to breaking up what had been a very happy home.
By five o'clock I was fully installed, and we were sitting in the living room, exhausted but satisfied, drinking a cup of tea.
Dave looked across at me "How much you paying for this place? Its rather good, definitely better than mine."
I told him, without telling him it was half rent. "Bloody hell, Tim. That's a lot less than I pay. You jammy bugger!"
I eased his pain by admitting to the half rent. He looked mollified, but he did say it was still a good deal, which pleased me. He took some more tea, and looked at me again "So how did you know I'd split with Maddy?"
"Ah! You don't know how close you came to either making or breaking your career, and I'm not sure which." And I told him the story. That led to Alice asking about Dave's current status, and it then struck me as odd that they hadn't ever got together. He chased every available woman, and there was Alice working in the same company, and to the best of my knowledge they'd never got together. So I asked.
Dave sort of went quiet, and ate a biscuit. So I looked at Alice, there was obviously a story here somewhere, perhaps it had to wait until I got one of them on my own. But Alice answered "Well, Dave did try, within my first month at TGI, in fact I think it was the first time I actually went to the pub on a Friday night. But his reputation had got to me before that. In fairness, it was more to do with the fact that I'd just come out of a bad bad phase of my life, the last thing I needed was a date, even with a nice guy like Dave."
"Oh, I'm a nice guy now am I?" said Dave, smiling. "At the time, I didn't stand a chance, even if I was the last man on earth, if I remember right, Alice?"
"Did I say that. Oh God. I'm sorry. That's an awful thing to say. But I was pretty low and very off men at that time. I've got a better, more balanced view these days, and I keep to a set of good rules."
"What rules like I'd get spanked if I broke them?" I asked jokingly, trying to break into a conversation that was becoming exclusive.
"No, rules like only date guys where something might be meaningful. No desperate one night stands. In fact, no stand at all until the third date at the earliest."
"Does carrying pots around at your behest count as a date" asked Dave, now well into flirting mode.
"Maybe, maybe not." came from Alice, with a look that joined him in the flirting stakes.
Dave glanced at me, and decided that now was not the time or place. "So, Tim, are you getting a new car to go with your new found position?"
"Yup."
"What are you going to get. And don't make it too good, I'm already jealous of this flat."
"Well, I sneaked a BMW Z4 out of Charlie. I think I caught him with a weak chink in his armour."
"Nice. Suits your new image. That and this flat, you should be giving me some real competition." He smiled at me.
Alice looked at me. "No, Tim's the nice guy sort. You're the challenge, Dave."
We chatted on, I decided that the bottle of champagne that I'd brought, That Bottle, needed opening. And we made short work of drinking it, with toasts to my new life, my new flat, my new car, my new office, my new secretary (whoever she might be), and even to the pots on the roof terrace.
Then someone said, what about some food. I said I hadn't got much in. So they started to discuss where to eat out. Chinese? Italian? Indian? English pub? In the end, the chilli at Not Steinbeck's was chosen by both of them, I was told I couldn't vote because I'd never been there.
I didn't fancy that. I had had a good day; I was in my new flat, I didn't need the thoughts that Not Steinbeck's might encourage. And anyway I quite fancied being in the flat all by myself. So I let them go off, and leave me in peace.
As the sun was setting, I was standing on my terrace, watching the river and thinking philosophical thoughts about how I'd ended up here, on how my life was moving on, on how I could imagine leaving Beth behind and all she meant to me, when my phone rang. It was Phil.
"Yes, Phil."
"What happened to you and Beth on Thursday?"
"Not a lot. Why?"
"Well, she's terribly upset. For the first time she really seems to believe that you're going to divorce. Mary says she's a lot better now than when she came home on Thursday evening. But, God, she's a mess."
I gave him a quick summary of Thursday evening, and of my meeting with Mary on Friday.
Phil interrupted me, "I don't know what this is about, but maybe it goes back to that meeting you had with Mary. She asked me to ask you 'Where are you going to start building?' It didn't make sense to me."
"Don't worry, Phil, it wouldn't. I'll explain it all to you when I see you. But, in the meantime, if you see Mary, tell her I'm not building, I'm at Blindside Trafalgar House, and it's kitted out for one, and doesn't need building. But I'm happy to talk to anyone who has a building project in mind. And over the coming months I expect I'll start spotting some possible applicants. So if she knows of anyone who might like to apply, they should get in quick before it's too late."
