Junction X (19 page)

“Well, you’ll have to call him tomorrow and un-invite him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t do that.”

“Well,
I
can’t; Claire will think that we’re shunning Fred.”

“We are! We
should
be! If I tell Phil, he’ll think I was lying that she wasn’t coming.”

“He’ll think that if he gets here and finds her here. Oh, darling, you’ll have to do something.”

“Why the hell should I?” I stood up, angry, guilty and defensive. “Why couldn’t you have let me know?”

“I couldn’t, could I?”

“Oh—right,” I jumped right into the middle of an older argument, kept fresh by habit. “This is to punish me for playing golf. As usual. Fine. Have it your way. Just don’t expect me to deal with it. We’ll have them both—and we’ll have a
lovely
atmosphere, won’t we?”

I grabbed my pyjamas from the chair and stalked out, but not before she’d had the last word.

“Can’t be any worse, can it?”

Chapter 14

I didn’t sleep much that night; my stomach woke me with twinges of indigestion whenever I did nod off. Consequently, I was awake when the early autumn sun dragged itself over the trees, turning the room gold. I dragged myself up and glared out of the window. Hoarfrost had sugar-coated the garden. Today would be colder in Valerie’s presence than it would be outdoors.

So I escaped, first making some toast and then backing the Wolseley out of the drive, toast held between my teeth. I went to The Sands early, despite having told Phil that I wouldn’t. It was not ideal weather for golf. My fingers were cold and stiff in their gloves. The sun was low, causing visibility to be affected, and the grass was frozen to a dry crunch, causing the ball to be erratic on the greens, but by the time I had reached the fourteenth, the worst of the frost had cleared. I was warmer, and most of my bad mood had evaporated.

I thought about my predicament with Phil as I played my way around. I reasoned, as I cleared the fifteenth green, that it would be awkward, but if he and Fred had to meet—and it was inevitable, eventually—perhaps it would be better if they met on neutral ground in front of others. Tempers would perhaps be held more in check than if they met privately. I hoped so, anyway.

The irritation and worry filed in appropriate places in my head, I allowed myself to think of Alex but I very soon found that he was decidedly bad for my game. Thirteen and Fourteen had been par but I bogeyed at the sixteenth, lost a ball at the seventeenth, wasted time and strokes in a sand-trap and ended up with one of my worst scores of the season. I was glad that no one but a few chilled sparrows was there to laugh at me.

But, with the image of Alex in my head, I didn’t particularly care. I made a note to myself not to allow myself to fantasise over him in the future and went in to shower. My resolution lasted about five minutes, if that. As soon as the water hit my body, I wondered what showering with—Alex—would be like. The phantom of him, which was never far from me, for I only had to close my eyes to imagine him, stepped in beside me and put his arms around my neck. I wish I could say I had the imagination to recount what we might have done were he actually there, but I didn’t. I hardened at the very thought of him, but, on hearing other members clatter into the changing area, lost the urge almost immediately.

Mrs. Tudor was
in situ
when I got home. “Mrs. Johnson’s got a migraine,” she said with a piercing look. “I said I’d come over this once, being a special occasion, but you know I don’t like to do weekends.”

“It’s good of you,” I said. “We’ll be out of your way after lunch; we’re going to build the bonfire.”

The children started to get excited at that, and Mrs. Tudor had to tell them that there would be “no building of bonfires if lunch wasn’t nice and quiet.” It worked like a charm, and peace was restored. Mrs. Tudor had the magic, whatever it was.

I had lunch in solitary splendour and then, dressed in something ancient, I set about collecting the materials for the bonfire and setting them at the end of the garden. I’d just found an old fence panel near the greenhouse and was lugging it across the lawn when the children arrived, wrapped up in hats and scarves, and towing a similarly bundled up Alex along with them.

“I’ve been kidnapped,” he said, smiling a little shyly.

“He was doing
maths!
” Mary said, with a face. “On
Sunday!
”

“How horrible. And you rescued him?”

“We did.”

“Can I help?” Alex asked. His eyes never left mine.

“You can, if you are sure…”

“I’m sure. The homework was making my head spin.”

“Daddy’s good at maths,” John said.

“I can do
yours
. I very much doubt whether I could do Al…Alec’s.”

Alex gave me the smallest of secret smiles as the children ran down the garden. “I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to try.”

“I might take you up on that.” My breath caught in my throat and I could hear the deeper timbre that my voice took on when talking to him. I knew that I was going to have to be very, very careful around other people.

Further private talk wasn’t possible for the next hour, as we kept busy. The children lost interest in about five minutes flat, as they kept bringing things that could not be burned, like Valerie’s gnome and the gardener’s overalls, but Alex and I worked hard, soon getting warm enough to shrug off our overcoats. Alex’s cheeks went pink, and once or twice, when our gloved hands met while carrying an awkward item, we both acted as if we hadn’t noticed, but he curled and uncurled his hand under mine.

He disappeared about three, with a promise to be back at eight and I went in, warmed and mellowed with my wicked secret. Valerie was supervising bathing and Mrs. Tudor was in the kitchen. I grabbed a sausage on a stick and, after taking the stairs two at a time, leaned against the bathroom door and made my peace.

“Sorry.” I said. There was a long silence as she finished with Mary. John was stomping up and down the hall complaining about girls always getting all the hot water. He had a point.

“Did you speak to him?” Val finally asked me.

“No. But I’ll deal with it. They are going to have to meet eventually. The town’s too small.” I passed her a towel for Mary. “And there will be enough people here for them to ignore each other if they have to.”

She sighed and helped Mary out of the bath. “All right, and I’m sorry too.” She stood up and kissed me perfunctorily on the cheek. “And just for that, you can make sure John washes and just doesn’t sit and read his
Look and Learn.
”

“Anything else?”

“No. Mrs. Tudor is going to do the food. We’ll lay it out in the conservatory, and then she’ll help with the drinks. All you have to do is light everything.”

“All right.” Mary was carried off, and I’d made sure that John cleaned behind his ears. Once I’d had a bath myself and tidied up I went outside again to set up the Catherine Wheels and milk bottles for the rockets.

Phil was the first to arrive, looking crisp and fresh in a dark blue jumper that I hadn’t seen before. He handed a case of wine to me at the door and kissed Valerie on both cheeks. “I’ve missed you,” he said to her.

“And I you.” She was beaming. They’d always got on well. “Thanks for the wine. Hope we aren’t clearing your cellar out?”

“Not likely. Anyway, I’m making a run over in a while, if Ed wants to come. To stock up.”

“Calais?”

“That’s right.” He scooped up the children and suffered eager kisses before putting them back down. “But we’ll discuss details later. I’m only asking Eddie because we can smuggle more than we need in that beast of his.”

“Are you a smuggler, Uncle Phil?” John asked. “Can we come and smuggle too?”

“Now look what you’ve done,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Come and open one of your bottles. I’ve got something to tell you.” The doorbell rang again and I grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him through the house to the conservatory, where we stashed the case.

“What’s up?”

“There’s…well, there’s no easy way to tell you this, and I’m glad you came first as you can leave if you want…”

“What is it? I’m not welcome?”

“No. Of course not. It’s not that. It’s just…well, wires got crossed and Valerie invited Claire.”

“Well, that’s all right. Why are you worrying about it?”

I looked at him, hard. He looked far too happy about it. I wondered if he was drunk, but he didn’t seem it. I couldn’t smell it and he seemed lucid. “I thought… I suppose I thought…”

“That I’d be all Don Giovanni about it, unable to face her and wanting to poison my replacement?”

“Sort of.”

“Eddie. It’s 1962. Not 1762.”

“You’ve cheered up.” I was almost accusing. Perhaps I wanted him to wallow in misery a little longer.

“You inspired me, old man.”

I coloured and looked at the door. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Not a word. I promise. But you made me see that there is more to life. I’ve got a lot to offer, after all.”

I pulled the last bottle out of the case, uncorked it, then covered the open bottles with a cloth. “That’s enough. If that’s how you feel, I’m glad. But whatever you think—or don’t think,” I wasn’t convinced in his hale and hearty recovery, “behave. The last thing anyone wants is a shouting match down The Avenue.”

“Heaven forbid. This isn’t
Coronation Street
.”

I laughed. “No. That’s for sure. Nothing like as exciting. Nothing happens here. Come and make yourself useful in the garden.” I shoved a box of foil-wrapped potatoes at him. “Stick these around the base of the bonfire and I’ll get the Guy.”

By the time I came back to the conservatory, it was a quarter past eight and there was quite a crowd of friends and neighbours and Valerie was being perfect in the middle of them. Alf and Sheila were being introduced to people they hadn’t yet met.

My eyes cast constantly around for Alex, but I couldn’t see him. I think that was the first time when I felt that fear of
not
seeing him when I expected to, and it never left me. I felt it many, many times after that, waiting on station platforms, sitting in a car outside his school, too many to remember. It’s a sick, bitter feeling—like butterflies but a lot worse.

I was making desultory conversation with Bob Rackham about fishing when Alex finally stepped into the lounge from the hall, and it was as if everyone else melted away. He seemed to float through the crowd, and I appreciated his grace and height in a crowded room in a way I hadn’t before. He held a glass of Valerie’s lemonade in his hand and I found I was staring at his wrist, for it seemed impossibly slender. I was filled with an insane longing to take his hand and kiss the inside of his wrist, where the blue veins showed through his skin. I wanted to know his body as well as I knew my own, and I raged with frustration that I did not.

“Who is that?” Bob asked, and I came back with a jolt, feeling myself go cold. I’d lost a sense of time and Alex, more subtle, more sensible—perhaps less in lust—than I, had walked by without even a glance.

“Hmmm?” I said. “Who? Sorry, Bob, I was miles away.”

“That boy.” He pointed to where Alex stood, near the conservatory door, talking to Mary. “You were frowning at him as if he’d done something terrible.”

I laughed, and I sounded hysterical to my own ears. “I didn’t even see him. I was thinking about the dreadful golf I played this morning.” Ruthlessly I bored him with a rendition of my round until he made an excuse and slid away from me.

At my cue from Valerie, I escaped to the chill of the garden, gratefully muffled against the frost that was already settling on the grass. The children’s Guy was propped up by the shed and I laughed out loud at the sight of it. He was in a large brown suit and my oldest bowler hat.

“He doesn’t look like you,” said a voice. Alex was pressed against the wall near the shed door. He had on a dark bobble hat and a black Crombie that came down to his knees. His face shone with the light of a thousand untasted kisses. “Perhaps in a few years…”

I glanced towards the house and stepped forward into madness. I had to force myself to break away from him after far too short a time. “Come help me light the bonfire,” I said. I held his hand tightly for a moment longer, wishing we weren’t wearing gloves. “The children will be out in a moment.”