We All Fall Down (22 page)

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean, you're not leaving like this. Come here.' He went and sat on the bed. ‘Don't worry, you don't have to do anything, just sit here for a minute. You and I, we're more than this. If you leave now, it will be wrong.'

He lay down beside her. She rested her head on his shoulder. A little later he moved under the sheet. Soon after that, they were kissing again. Then they made love. And this time he wasn't in an alcoholic stupor.

He had to run to catch the last train. He hadn't called Kate. He'd deal with that problem in the morning. He slept on the train, and almost missed his stop. Later he wished he had. He walked down from the station, through the trees and past the shadowy houses, then across the recreation area that was by now pitch black. He could hear the ocean off to his right, but it was as dark as the sky, so he was unable to see it. He crept into the house so as not to wake his wife.

10

She listened to him attempting to be quiet. Like a dog that is about to lie down on its rug, he circled through the necessary rooms – sitting room, kitchen, toilet, bathroom – before finally settling in the spare bedroom. She almost called out, to tell him she was still awake, but there was something about the pleasure of solitude, of having the queen-size bed to herself that made her remain silent. She soon fell asleep, but not before she heard snoring from down the corridor.
Drunk
… was possibly her last conscious thought.

‘My, we did have a good night.' She was sitting on the edge of the spare bed in her dressing-gown. Hugh had his face to the wall, and was displaying a remarkable resemblance to a drowned man washed up on the foreshore. He grunted, ‘Huh?'

Feeling a sudden and, increasingly of late, rare surge of affection for the tousled, vulnerable body at her side, she leant over to give him a kiss on the cheek. She hesitated, inhaling tentatively, then frowned. She straightened up, pushing herself upright, away from him, as if he were contaminated. She stood up now, regarding her husband coldly. He was oblivious of the about-turn. ‘You're going to be late.'

He rolled onto his back and half opened his eyes, just long enough to see her standing over him. She could see him trying to get his thoughts together.
He probably wants to make sure he gets his story right
, went through her head. She saw him close his eyes, then mutter, ‘Er, sorry. Drank too much yesterday. After the funeral. You know …'

She stood by the bed, saying nothing, staring down at him. Her arms were folded; she was almost hugging herself. She was far too taut for someone who got out of bed only minutes earlier.

He was attempting to explain his situation, his eyes closed, but opening with increasing regularity as if to check on how well his story was going down. ‘Only just caught the last train … Slept in here because I didn't want to wake you …'

He was still not wide awake, and appeared surprisingly defenceless. She was aware of how she had him at a disadvantage, yet she chose to walk away. ‘I'll put some coffee on.' And she left the room.

She was sitting on the sofa with Tim when he appeared downstairs. They were watching TV together, something she only ever did at the weekend. She turned to watch Hugh. She could see the wariness in his eyes, like an animal that has blundered into a clearing and is now peering nervously in every direction, trying to work out if it's in danger. This pleased her, this was good. He walked towards her. She was momentarily startled. But he bent down and kissed the top of Tim's head. ‘Hi, Daddy.'

‘I'm going to head straight off,' he said, ‘or I'll be late.'

She could see him hesitate, either trying to gauge if he was going to make it safely across the clearing, or trying to work out if he should bend down and kiss her too. She told him, ‘There's coffee in the kitchen.'

‘Haven't time, sorry. If I hurry, I'll catch the seven fifty three train.'

She didn't answer, but stood up and went out into the hall with him. She wasn't about to let him walk away. She closed the sitting room door behind her. There and then, she squared up to him, standing between him and the front door, blocking his way. ‘So, are you going to tell me who you were with last night?' She kept her voice down, all too aware of their son next door, but also painfully aware of how middle-class and provincial she was sounding.

‘Kate –'

‘Don't “Kate” me. Who was it?'

‘I haven't time –'

‘At least you're not denying it.'

‘I do deny it – whatever it is you're accusing me of.'

‘You know perfectly well. You were with someone last night. I know when you're lying – I can tell.'

‘That's ridiculous. What on earth –?' He shook his head as if to clear it, as if mystified by her accusation. ‘I haven't time to talk now. I'll miss my train.' He tried to sidestep her, but she held up her hand, like an exasperated traffic cop.

‘You're not going –' She was trying to stop herself from shaking.

‘Later. If you have something to say, later –'

‘Who is she?' Then, realising she had almost shouted those words at him, she lowered her voice and almost hissed, ‘I want to know. Who is she?'

‘Jesus, Kate. I have to go. We'll talk this evening – though I have no idea what about.' And he forced his way past her, almost pushing her into the wall, and opened the front door. She slammed it behind him.

* * *

On the train, he attempted to read the newspaper. It was difficult. His mind kept drifting. He screwed up his eyes; he could have been in pain. He was in pain. It made him groan. How did women know these things, how did they always know? It must be feminine instinct. It was uncanny. They pick up on things so quickly, things a man would never notice. It was unbelievable. There must have been some guessing involved, surely? She had picked up the smell of Penny on him, that much was obvious. There wasn't anything else he could think of. Hadn't he had a shower when he got home? He remembered not wanting to wake her, but that was about all. More to the point, why did women always wear perfume? They leave this trail behind them, like marking dogs. But it was flimsy evidence on her part. Pure guesswork is how he'd have described it. He should bluff his way through this, deny everything. There'd been women at the wake, of course there had. It was no more than that. Yes, he'd hugged some of them, certainly. They'd been upset for heaven's sake, and he'd tried to comfort them. Fiona's Mum for one, seventy-something if she was a day! It was the decent thing to do. So it was wild surmise on Kate's part, no more than that. Well, she wasn't going to trap him so easily, oh no. He'd deny everything. He'd been an idiot, but it didn't have to be the end of the world, the end of their marriage. It had been a one-off mistake, a silly mistake. She must realise that – but no! No, no, no, she wouldn't realise that because he wasn't about to admit anything – nothing. So long as they could get through this, if they could just ride it out, then he'd make sure he never ventured off the path again. He'd promise her that, but only if she did manage to wring a full confession out of him. He'd keep to the straight and narrow from now on. If he admitted anything, if somehow she did worm a confession out of him, then it was only fair that she gave him some leeway. After all, it was the first time he'd … What? Erred? In all the years they'd been together, this was the first time. She must be able to see that. She could surely forgive one small mistake.

He'd definitely have to steer clear of Penny for a while. It would be hard, but he couldn't afford to put his marriage at risk. He wasn't about to say that he'd never see her again, he couldn't bear that – at least he didn't think he could. They might have lost touch for a few years, when he came out to Australia, but he didn't want to lose touch with her forever. Just for a few weeks – maybe even for a few months – he could cope with that. After all, she'd been in his life for so long, or that's how it struck him now. He'd known her since that day she breezed into his office in his first week at PCD in London. She'd introduced herself, and he'd been attracted to her instantly. Yet in all the years they'd known each other, only once had they come close to progressing beyond friendship. After a particularly drunken farewell party in London they'd gone back to her place together – ‘for a nightcap'. Nothing happened, which, for Hugh, became a permanent, never-to-be-forgotten regret lodged at the back of his brain. He had no idea how Penny regarded the incident; they'd never spoken about it. Falling asleep half-dressed on the bed, she'd slurred ‘'S not a good idea to fuck a colleague. 'S never a good idea.' And a minute later she was unconscious. Hugh could still remember, despite struggling for equilibrium in the slowly revolving room, looking down at her half-exposed body (which had been half-exposed most of the evening) – the aureole of one nipple just visible – and wanting desperately to touch her, stroke her and even, for a brief, crazy moment, make love to her. After a good deal of angst, he reached the decision that this would definitely be taking advantage of his friend and wasn't therefore a consideration. He fell asleep eventually, and in the morning woke up to find her lying on the bed next to him, resting on one elbow, looking down at him with a warmth, almost a love that quite startled him. It didn't last long.

‘Good grief, imagine waking up next to this for the rest of my life.' She was already showered and dressed, had brought him coffee and, in the friendliest of ways, made it quite clear that she did not wish, now that she was sober, to take their relationship to the next level. He'd never discovered if this was because he was a colleague, or because she didn't ‘feel that way' about him. She treated him like a friend, almost a brother, but then she treated the men she did go to bed with in much the same way, so what did it all mean?

Now, on the train, there was a sweet, fleeting memory of the time in London she'd been telling him and another work colleague how she'd dyed her hair at the weekend, adding – ‘And I dyed my pubes the same colour. Look.' And without missing a beat, she'd lifted her skirt in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner to demonstrate the truth of what she'd just said. (Everyone in the agency somehow already knew, had always known that Penny never wore knickers.) Such memories, intermingled with the realities of the previous night – and somewhat dissipated by the still lingering clouds of alcohol – were rudely interrupted by thoughts of Kate, her anger, and her threat of a
discussion
that evening. He had to lie to her. He didn't like that, having never done so before, but it was necessary now if he was to save his marriage. Anyway, it was only a small lie: he'd only been unfaithful once, and was never going to be unfaithful again, so it was fair enough to deny everything. It was clear enough to him that however much he liked Penny – and he felt he liked her very much – it was more important to salvage his marriage. Amidst thoughts like these, his mind in turmoil, tracking first in one direction then switching abruptly to another, his train clattered through the tangle of points and criss-crossing railway lines and drew into Central.

In his office, he concentrated on work. He spoke to as few people as possible and kept his door closed. At midday, he received a summons to Russell's office. He wondered what the problem was this time as he walked down the corridor.

‘Hughsy! Do you know that client of yours didn't even take Suzanne home? Are you sure he's not gay?'

‘I'm sorry?' He remained standing half way between the door and Russell's desk, hoping that whatever it was his boss wanted to talk about could be dealt with without sitting down.

‘Dieter, he didn't take Suzanne home.'

‘He agreed to drop her off. I thought that's what he said he'd do?'

‘A euphemism, mate. That's what they call it, isn't it? You educated blokes should know that. He was supposed to fuck her, not drop her off. Not literally drop her off, just fuck her. Seems he didn't.'

‘Maybe Dieter didn't understand what he was supposed to do.' He wasn't sure he had understood that either, not really. He walked across to the sofa opposite Russell's desk. He was going to have to sit down.

‘She'd have made it pretty damn obvious if I know Suzanne. She'd have spread her legs in the taxi or something, and made it clear enough. I paid her generously, so my guess is, your client's a bit dumb. Or gay, like I said.'

‘You paid her?'

‘Someone had to, mate. Suzanne's not into freebies, you know. She doesn't have a heart of gold, or any bullshit like that.'

‘Then she's … she's …?'

‘I got my money's worth with her friend though, with Emma. Boy, did I ever.' Russell sank into a reverie, a faint smirk on his face, while Hugh attempted to readjust his recollections of their night out at the Casino.

‘I've used the girls before, but have always kept it on a business basis, even though they've often offered it to me for free.'

Hugh, now uncertain as to his own role in this hanky-panky, wondered if this was all the managing director wished to speak to him about.

‘It was an expensive evening. Suzanne still charged me, of course – as you'd expect. And there was the meal on top of that.'

‘Let's hope it turns out to be worthwhile then.' Hugh tried to put a positive spin on the evening.

The managing director nodded. He was looking at Hugh, but appeared to have departed to some other place, a different time or space continuum. Finally, he seemed to decide on the direction he wished their conversation to take.

‘If you read the newspapers or watch TV, you'll be aware that, apart from the media's fixation with the mine collapse in Tasmania, the stories are all about our booming economy?' Hugh nodded.

‘Unfortunately, it's not how I see it. The advertising business is being squeezed like never before. Margins are almost nonexistent. And as far as I can tell from talking to others in the business, we're not the only ones suffering.'