Putty In Her Hands (6 page)

No, nor have I.

Not since the Christmas
meal.

Nor have I.
And it’s
beginning to show.

Listen, Robbie, I’m going back
to Westminster on Sunday.

Oh. Back to the husband?
Yes.

Oh.
She has a husband; I
have a wife. We’re equal. So why does my stomach feel so knotted
up? What little appetite I had vanishes entirely.

Dawn can sense my unease.
It’s always so chaotic when I’m here – working, looking after my
parents, they need so much doing for them, doing the photography,
hassling my agent. It’s different over in
Westminster
. Nothing to worry about. I can laze around,
unwind, and I need that right now. I’m tired, Robbie. But hey, I
might make it back for Friday’s drink.

What drink?

Friday, after work, the Horse
and Carrot. Loretta invited me. Why, don’t you know about it?

Ah, Loretta – a rake-thin,
red-haired girl of about 22, all elbows and gaucheness, who looks
like Olive Oil from Popeye and about as sexy.
Yes, course I
do.
I stab my fork into the potato.
OK, I don’t. But what do
you mean
might
make it back?

I’ll have to see how I feel.
I’m a different person in
Westminster
, Robbie. More
chilled. After a week there I may not want to come back.

I want to ask: but what about
me? Am I alone not worth coming back for? And Friday next seems an
age away, a whole week without a glimpse of Dawn. I can’t imagine
what that will do to me. I manage to sit on my petulance. But it’s
about to get worse…

I should warn you – things may
be different when I get back.

Different?
You know, between you and me.

Dawn, don’t say that; it hurts
when you talk like that.

I’m not saying they will be but
just… just be prepared, that’s all.

She gave me a
lift home. I got out near a bus stop in a leafy street. All was
quiet but it was cold. It took me a long time to finally say
goodbye, get out of her car and close the door. The act of leaving
her was killing me. We kissed as we parted.

Saturday, 15th December

I woke up, my heart feeling
heavy. As a form of distraction, I took Joshua Christmas shopping
today, and now, thanks to Dawn, I knew exactly what to buy. The
recipients on my list consisted of Emily and… well, that was it – a
present from me and each of the children. Emily would do the rest –
the children, my mother, far-flung siblings and their spouses,
friends, the lot. Sometimes it’s so easy being a man.

The first place we headed for
was TK-Maxx and straight to the first floor and the women’s coats
and jackets section. There, in exactly the place I left it last
night, I found the dark suede jacket with the fur collar that Dawn
had so fetchingly tried on only a few hours earlier. And after a
bit of searching I found another, very similar, a size bigger.
Joshua approved although he’d be the first to admit that as an
arbiter of female fashion his judgement may be less than sound.

Having bought them both, at not
some inconsiderable cost, I suffered an interrogation:
Dad, why
did you buy both jackets?

Ah, in case one doesn’t fit.
I’ll bring one back, you see?

And why did you pay for one
with money and the other with your card?

You noticed that? Because I
didn’t have enough cash on me.

Right.
He thinks about
this for a moment.
Dad, why is that man waving at us?
What man?
I followed his gaze, and sure enough there was the
camp man in a Trilby that Dawn and I had met last night. Heck, I
thought, I can’t have him speaking to Joshua and letting some
filthy great big cat out of the bag. Fortunately, he was at some
distance, waving at me like the Queen Mother over the clothes’
racks. What was he doing here again; did he live in the place?
Perhaps he was asking the same question of me.
Quickly, Joshua,
let’s go before he speaks to us.

Safely away, we dodged the
Christmas crowds in the shopping precinct but stopped to listen to
a Salvation Army band playing Christmas favourites. I like a bit of
brass occasionally. But then I spied someone coming round with a
donations hat and I decided half a carol was enough.

In Argos we bought a kettle
that claims it can boil from stone cold in three seconds flat
(
We’ll say that’s from you, Joshua
) and from a record shop
Blondie’s Greatest Hits (
And that’ll be from Lola.
) And that
was it, Christmas shopping done. Sorted. Only a matter of buying
three cards (from each of us) and a couple rolls of wrapping paper,
and then we could head home.

Dad…
He’s going to ask
for something, years of training have attuned my ears to the
tiniest inflection from the first ‘d’.
Are you and Mum buying me
the Green Day CD for Christmas; I mean you don’t have to say or
anything…

No.

Can I buy it then?

How much pocket money have you
got left?
No, I meant, erm, with your money?

No.

Please –

No.

Dad –

Joshua, I said no, and
that’s final.
Sometimes, as a parent, when you say no you have
to mean it and stick by it.

The card shop was manic with
happy shoppers so I didn’t see her until I’d virtually walked into
her, letting out a shriek so loud that half the shop turned to see.
Dawn!

Rob!

Dawn, hi.

Hello, Rob.

Hello.

Hi.

Somehow we had to get out of
this loop.
Dawn, this is my son Joshua.

Josh,
he corrected.

Hi, Josh. So are you Christmas
shopping with your dad then?

Yeah, we’ve been buying
presents for my mum.

That’s nice, what did you get
her?

We got –

No,
I screeched.
We
can’t tell you. It’s a secret.
She couldn’t know that I’d
brought the jacket she’d found.

Well, I won’t tell her.

It’s not that, it’s just…
you know. Josh, go and have a look for those cards. Nothing too
soppy. And nothing to religious,
I called as he ambled off.
Turning to Dawn I added,
We don’t want to overdo the religious
bit at Christmas, now do we?

Good looking boy,
said
Dawn.

Yeah, takes after his
mother.

I knew you were a dad but
it’s still strange seeing you
being
a dad.

It started ten years ago.

Are you OK?
Yeah. You?
Yes. Wish I could hold you.

Me too. You
alone then?

Yes but I’m meeting my mother
in half an hour for lunch. Care to join us?

I’d love to but… you know.

I know. I was only teasing.

Are still going back west
tomorrow?

Yes.

For a week?

Or longer.

Come to the pub on Friday.

I’ll see.

Dawn…

Here comes Josh.

That was too quick – go and
choose some better ones.

But you haven’t even looked at
them yet.

OK, I guess they’ll do. So
er, see you Friday, Dawn.
It still seemed a painfully long way
away, assuming she even made it then.
Nice to see you
again.

And you. Goodbye, Josh.

As Joshua and I left, I glanced
round. She winked at me. That was the point we got stopped by the
security guard. By blaming Joshua, saying it was an accident and by
pointing out that it was he holding the cards, we got let off with
nothing more than a stern ticking off.

Thanks, Dad, thanks a
lot,
said an indignant Joshua shortly afterwards as we headed
back towards the car.

Sorry, Josh. Listen, best not
mention the incident to your mum.

What, how you almost got me
arrested?

And er, perhaps best if you
don’t mention Dawn either.

Why not?
Your mother doesn’t really like Dawn,
I said choosing my words
carefully.

Why, do they know each
other?

Not yet,
I muttered
under my breath.

What?

You know, perhaps we’ll buy
that Green Day album after all.

Sunday, 16th December

Sunday afternoon we put the
Christmas tree up, a real one – naturally. I placed it in the bay
window and Emily, usually such a stickler for having it just so,
allows the children to decorate it as they see fit. So Joshua
decorates the top half, and Lola the bottom. Christmas carols play
in the background to add to the atmosphere, and I sit back in the
armchair enjoying the fuggy warmth of our living room, reading a
Sunday Times
supplement, feeling like a Victorian father.
Lola cries that she wants to put the fairy on. Joshua, all
magnanimous, steps aside, and I lift Lola up, where after several
attempts she places the fairy at the top. The final result is a
mishmash of style and clash of colours, flung on as children do.
Emily applauds whilst gnashing her teeth.

That evening, after the
children have gone to bed, I noticed Emily rearranging the tree
ever so subtly so not to be too noticeable to their unobservant
eyes. After the fourth evening, the tree finally looks right in her
opinion, and the children remain unaware that their handiwork has
been tampered with beyond recognition. On the windowsill, our
Christmas cards, including the one from Aunt Vera, which we
received during the last week in November. It was so early I almost
sent it back with the instruction that she send it to us at the
appropriate time of year. Not for anything, do Emily and the
children call me Scrooge.

Monday, 17th December

The last full week before
Christmas, and it passes with excruciating slowness. Monday I
decided not to text Dawn; I’d leave her in peace with her husband.
But I still hoped she’d text me. But she didn’t. Ditto Tuesday but
I was still cool about it. Up to about six o’clock. I’d stayed
late, assessing someone’s application for an essential car users’
allowance. They were pushing it, of course; there was no way I
could sanction such a pile of fiction. And then suddenly I felt as
if someone had tied a huge weight to my heart and, whilst during
Monday and Tuesday, they’d held it, bearing its weight, about six
p.m. Tuesday, without warning, they let go, and suddenly my heart
surges under the strain. Why hasn’t she been in contact? She’d warn
me things might be different when she was back in Westminster but
not this different. It’s as if I didn’t exist. I tried to read the
words on the screen in front of me, the Essential car users’
allowance policy, but my breathing comes in short bursts. I’m new
to this, forgot that people,
women,
can make you feel this
bad, this wretched. I check my mobile continually, getting
increasingly desperate to receive a text from her, or a ‘missing
call’ message with her number. A couple of times over the week, my
phone buzzed. Almost shaking with anticipation, I reached inside my
pocket. Each time I let out an audible groan of disappointment when
I’d been asked to buy a loaf of bread or a pint of milk on my
return from work.

On Wednesday, Loretta asked me
whether I was going out on Friday night. Yes, I said, and asked
whether she knew who else was intending to go. She listed various
names, the usual suspects, including Ernie and Karen, and then, as
an afterthought, added Dawn.

Loretta grinned, happy to be
seen as the point of social contact.
I texted her,
she
said.

You text Dawn?
I hadn’t
realised they were on such good terms. Just think, Dawn and our
very own Olive Oil as friends.
And she’s coming Friday?

She said maybe, so that
probably means no.
I wondered whether Loretta had any
foundation whatsoever to jump to such a negative assumption, but
the way I was feeling I guessed she was probably right anyway.

If you happen to text her
again, send her my…

Yes?

Regards.

Loretta
laughed.
Will do,
she says.

As Friday
loomed I became more and more convinced Dawn would either not turn
up or return feeling different about me. It shocked me how much I
cared. I hassled Loretta into keeping in touch with Dawn, reminding
her of the drink.

Friday, 21st December

The day is
here and I wake up bad tempered and on edge. Emily asks whether I’m
OK. Joshua, with an instinct for survival when he senses not all is
well in Dad’s world, avoids me.

It is the last day before the
holidays and Christmas is evident everywhere. The festive mood in
the office permeates every corner, except, I notice, Heather’s
office, where she sits studiously as ever. I suggest that she join
us in the pub after work. Her withering look is no more than I’d
expected. Everyone else, the few that haven’t taken the day off,
celebrate behind a thin façade of work. Ernie’s sprig of mistletoe,
now doubled in size, pokes out from his jacket pocket; Sean, a
young chap in a wheelchair, has lined his wheels with purple
tinsel; and Paul, my earnest co-worker, is wearing a tie that plays
Jingle Bells at the push of a button.