The Importance of Being a Bachelor (10 page)

‘Yeah,’ replied Adam. ‘I know it’s a little big for just me but I like my space.’

Dee kissed Adam full on the lips and led him up to his front door where they kissed again.

‘We really should do this indoors,’ murmured Adam, reaching inside his jacket for his key, ‘the last thing I need is the neighbours complaining again!’

Dee sniggered like a naughty schoolgirl as Adam opened the door enabling the two of them to collapse giggling into the hallway.

‘Shhhhh!’ Dee adopted a comedy Mancunian accent. ‘You’ll wake the baby!’

‘Listen, babe, why don’t you go put some music on in the front room while I’ll go and see if I can find some glasses for this champagne you made me buy.’

He kissed her again, a long slow kiss, and then brandishing the bottle of ludicrously overpriced champagne he headed for the kitchen. He was still rooting around in the cupboard when there was an ear-piercing scream from the living room.

Adam was there within seconds and was completely gobsmacked by what he saw: a horrified-looking Dee facing his horrified-looking dad who was standing in the middle of the living room wearing only a plain white T-shirt and boxer shorts.

‘I thought you lived alone?’ said Dee.

‘I do,’ stammered Adam. He looked at his dad and the duvet lying on the sofa behind him. ‘Dad, what are you doing here?’

‘I needed somewhere to stay, son.’

‘What do you mean? Why would you need somewhere to stay? You’ve got a house.’

Dad looked at Dee, his face the picture of embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, love.’

‘You nearly gave me a heart attack,’ said Dee.

‘You and me both,’ he said, sitting down on the sofa.

Adam couldn’t stand this small talk any more. ‘Dad! Come on! You’re in my living room in your boxer shorts . . . what’s wrong? Why aren’t you at home?’

His dad looked at the floor. ‘I didn’t want you to find out like this. I didn’t want you to find out like this at all.’

‘Find out what?’

‘It’s me and your mum.’ He met Adam’s gaze full on. ‘I don’t really know how to say this so I’ll just come out with it. I’m sorry, son, I’ve left her.’

Part 2

‘Just say it.’

Adam cracked his left eyelid open, yawned and cast his gaze in the direction of the bedside clock which told him was it was quarter to one in the afternoon. Squeezing his open eye shut, he turned over and tried to go back to sleep. Given the strange and disturbing nature of the dreams that he had been having all night (something to do with his dad, a screaming girl and a very nasty surprise) this was probably a mistake. Something was wrong, he could feel it deep in his bones. But what was it? He snaked out an arm out from underneath the warmth of his duvet and stretched out his legs; he opened his left eye, quickly followed by his right and saw the problem right in front of him: the other side of the bed was empty. How could that possibly be true? Surely his throbbing head was evidence that he had been on a big night out? And what kind of big night out could possibly result in him waking up alone in bed? Adam pondered the problem and decided the scenario was so unlikely that there could only be one answer: she had already got up and was currently doing something sexy like making breakfast for the two of them wearing nothing but his shirt. What did she look like? He had no idea. But she would be a cracker. He climbed out of bed, flung on his towelling dressing gown, and made his way gingerly downstairs. He was all ready to feast his eyes upon the cornucopia of delights that were no doubt waiting for him when the kitchen door opened and there in front of him with a bowl of cereal in his hands and wearing a shapeless plain white T-shirt and blue boxer shorts and very little else was his dad. Suddenly it all came back to him. His dad. A girl. And an awful lot of screaming. No, it hadn’t been a dream at all. It had been real. Very real. His parents’ forty-year marriage was over.

Half an hour later having showered, shaved and left half a dozen messages for each of his brothers Adam made his way back down to the kitchen to restart his morning.

‘All right, Dad?’ he said to his father who was standing at the sink washing up his cereal bowl. Adam glanced down at the dishwasher that he was pretty sure his dad knew existed and sighed. ‘Sorry about just turning round like that and heading back upstairs. I think I was still half asleep and well . . . you sort of took me by surprise. Anyway, did you sleep OK?’

‘I slept fine, son.’ He shook the soap suds from his hands into the sink, then paused and looked at Adam as if awaiting some kind of news or admonishment from his son. Adam felt there was nothing to say until his dad had at the very least had a cup of tea.

‘Fancy a brew?’

‘Definitely. And some toast wouldn’t go amiss. I had some of your bran flakes but I can’t say that they really agree with me.’

‘One tea and toast coming up,’ said Adam. ‘Just make yourself comfortable in the front room and I’ll bring it in to you.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Dad. ‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’

Adam felt his heart melt for his dad who had done so many wonderful things for his son in his lifetime and now thought that a request for a cup of tea and toast must somehow constitute ‘trouble’.

‘It’s no trouble, Dad, honestly. No trouble at all.’

Adam filled the kettle and wondered again what was happening in his life. He focused mainly on the over-the-top reaction of Dee-the-promotions-girl at coming face to face with his dad in his living room. It would almost be funny if it a) hadn’t happened to him and b) he didn’t feel that right now his life was falling apart.

What could be going on in the mind of a sixty-eight-year-old man, a few months shy of his fortieth wedding anniversary, to make him decide to give it all up so that he could be on his own? It didn’t make any sense. Much as Adam liked his space, even he could see that one of the upsides of marriage was that you didn’t have to grow old and die alone. So this step that his dad had taken this close to seventy, well, he just couldn’t take it seriously. Maybe it was some kind of delayed mid-life crisis? Was it more of a wobble in confidence than an out-and-out statement of intent? Adam couldn’t imagine how his dad would last ten minutes alone, never mind ten days, without Mum.

The water for the tea came to the boil signalling to Adam that it was time to do the toast. He got out a loaf of white bread and dropped two slices into the toaster. He was just about to reach across for a plate when the phone on the kitchen counter rang.

‘Hello, Adam?’

It was Luke.

‘Where have you been?’

‘It’s a long story. I switched my phone off last night and forgot all about it.’

‘You and Russ, you’re both useless,’ snapped Adam. ‘What’s the point in having mobile phones if no one can get hold of you?’

‘What’s the problem? Is everything OK? No one’s ill are they?’

‘No, no one’s ill.’ Adam paused, thinking of how to say what needed to be said. ‘Look, mate, I can’t go into it on the phone. I just need you to get over to mine, OK? And bring Russ with you.’

An hour later Adam opened the door to his brothers. ‘Finally!’ he said, scowling in their direction. ‘I thought you pair were never going to turn up. Come in.’

‘What’s the big deal?’ Russell was clearly annoyed that Adam had invoked his right (by virtue of being the first born and the most physically imposing) to talk to his brothers like they were a pair of errant schoolkids.

‘I’d tell you but you’d never believe me. Just follow me and be prepared to have your minds blown.’

Exchanging puzzled glances Luke and Russell followed Adam into the front room where their dad was sitting uncomfortably on Adam’s slouchy low-level grey sofa staring up at the motor-racing on the huge flatscreen TV.

‘All right, Dad?’ Luke was confused. ‘What are you doing here?’

Dad looked guiltily at Adam. ‘I thought you were going to tell them?’

Adam shook his head. ‘You must be joking. You can’t tell this kind of news second-hand, Dad – I heard it directly from you and I still don’t believe it. No, Dad, this has to come from you and you alone.’

‘It’s not Mum is it?’ asked Russell. ‘She’s OK, isn’t she?’

‘You’re mother’s fine,’ replied Dad. ‘There’s nothing wrong with her at all.’

‘OK,’ said Luke, struggling to remain calm ‘this is ridiculous. We’ve established that Mum’s fine, and as far as I can see you’re fine too, Dad, and I’m pretty sure that me, Russ and Ad are all hunky-dory, so just put me and Russ out of our misery, will you? It doesn’t matter who, but will one of you explain what it is that’s going on because you’re both freaking me out with all this.’

Dad stood up from the sofa to put himself on a level with his sons. ‘Look,’ he said, addressing Luke, ‘what you’ve got to understand is that this situation . . .’ He paused and looked over at Russell to include him too. ‘Well, the thing is it’s really difficult for all of us. There aren’t any rights and wrongs. There’s just . . . I don’t know . . . lots of shades of grey.’

Adam could see that Luke was getting impatient. Dad, usually one of the most straight-talking people in the history of the world, was suddenly talking in the fluffy touchy-feely manner of a daytime talk show host. If ever there was a red alert signal this was it. Men were the problem with this situation, thought Adam. Here they were, four grown men standing in a room trying desperately to communicate with each other and failing miserably.

‘Look, Dad,’ said Luke. ‘Whatever it is you’ve got to say just say it, OK?’

‘Very well then.’ He took a deep breath and told them everything.

‘Why don’t we all just calm down for a second?’

Russell didn’t know where to look, or even what kind of expression should be on his face. His father’s news had rendered him well and truly speechless. Plucking up the courage to meet the gaze of the other members of his family in the room, he registered that his father looked weary; Luke looked like he was about to explode in rage; and Adam looked like all he wanted was to go back to bed and pretend this day had never happened.

Russell barely understood his dad’s explanation. In fact it was as though Dad didn’t really understand it himself even though he was at the centre of it. But the long and the short of it seemed to be that he had left Mum. Having a lot of time on his hands since his retirement five years ago Dad had apparently started to think about his life and begun to wonder how it might have been different if he had never married and had children. All this wondering might have ended up nowhere but a few weeks ago he had bumped into Roger, an old friend from his time on the buses, and they had gone for a drink together and over a couple of pints of stout George had learned that Roger had just split up with his wife Marion after forty-four years together. Roger professed to be having the time of his life now that he was single and that was it. The seed was planted in the boys’ father’s head and it started to germinate. It was possible to start again. It was possible to live the life that you always wanted to live: a life free of commitments and compromises; a life where he could just do his own thing. Over the following weeks he packed and unpacked a suitcase several times and even got as far as calling for a taxi but always changed his mind at the last minute. Then last night with Joan spending the night away at Aunt Rose’s in Leeds he had packed his suitcase, placed a letter that had taken him all day to write on the telephone seat in the hallway and called a taxi to take him over to Adam’s. He explained his choice of destination thus: ‘Luke’s got Cassie, Russell shares his house with strangers so Adam’s really was my only option.’ On hearing the minicab beep its horn outside the house he had removed the spare keys to Adam’s house from the living-room drawer, taken one last look around the house, locked the door behind him and headed over to Adam’s house secure in the knowledge that Adam being Adam would most likely be out until the early hours. George had taken the duvet from the bed in the spare room and settled down on the sofa to wait for his eldest son’s arrival home. At roughly six a.m. Adam had arrived home with a young lady who Dad had never seen before and said young lady had entered the living room to discover Dad in his boxer shorts. She had screamed. The rest, as they say, is history. Now all he wanted was for Joan to keep the house and everything in it and allow him to find a place of his own to rent and try his best to be happy.

Russell looked up at his dad. ‘I don’t understand.’ George looked confused. ‘I don’t understand what you’ve just said, Dad,’ he clarified.

George looked at the ground. ‘Don’t get me wrong, boys, it’s not like I don’t love your mother. I do. I really do. She’s a great woman and has done an outstanding job of raising you three boys into the fine men you are today.’

Luke spat a terse and dismissive ‘But?’ in Dad’s direction.

George refused to acknowledge the hostility in Luke voice. ‘There is always a “but” with these situations isn’t there? And the “but” here is me. It’s not your mother’s fault and it’s certainly not you boys’ fault either. If there’s anyone at all to blame it’s me. This is all my fault.’

‘Well you’re not wrong there,’ snapped Luke. He walked towards the window as if he couldn’t trust himself to be in too close proximity to his father. ‘Of course it’s not Mum’s fault and why would any of us think it’s our fault? It’s got nothing to do with us at all. I don’t even know what you’re thinking. None of this is making any sense.’ Russell watched Luke’s face and felt a tight ball of tension in his stomach. The suggestion that Luke was about to make hadn’t even crossed his mind until this moment and even the thought of it made him feel sick.