The Restoration of Otto Laird (19 page)

Otto never did establish for certain which of them was first to lapse into an affair. But for a number of years these affairs had not only defined their marriage but almost broken it in the process. There was, for example, the liaison between Cynthia and a younger member of the team at Unit 12 (soon to become Unit 11). Otto had never worked out exactly when it started. He suspected later that it might have begun after that party, the one they had thrown at the house one evening to celebrate the contract for the public library building in Helsinki.

He remembered glimpsing Cynthia in conversation with him in the hallway; leaning back against the wall in her burgundy dress, a flash of teeth between the sips of wine, her full lips lingering on the glass. He remembered, too, his own slight pang of jealousy; feeling older, suddenly, than he had before. He felt envious at the intimacy of their expression, the way she drank in the young man's smile, his strong jaw and sinuous frame in an open-necked denim shirt – a hint of chest-hair bleached by salt and sun – resonant of exercise and good health. He recalled Cynthia brushing aside her long fringe, in order to gift him her face. Immediately after then, it must have been. Or maybe it had already started by that time. Otto didn't know. He had avoided the details. Even later on, near the end of Cynthia's life, when she had wanted one afternoon to tell him everything; for him to tell her everything, too.

It doesn't matter, he had said to her. It's just life, passing … nothing more. None of it is important any more.

But even at the time he knew that he was sparing himself the additional pain – of his own confessions, as much as hers. And why did those affairs happen? The usual mid-life vanities. Boredom, frustration, a sense of time slipping quickly away. A need for some new-found excitement, started and then gone much too far. And then, in hindsight, there were the mundane pressures of working life. Those, too, had played their corrosive part.

Eighteen

‘What do you think of that?' Cynthia asked the seven-yearold Daniel, as he tore the latest gift from its wrapper.

The small wooden boomerang, covered in bright abstract patterns, shone with a coat of glossy varnish, fresh from the workshop. Daniel gazed at it, overawed.

‘Thanks, Daddy – it's amazing.'

Otto smiled down at him benignly.

‘You're welcome. I've missed you all these days.'

Cynthia smiled at Otto.

‘We've both missed you, too. And how is the project progressing?'

‘Oh, you know. Slow. Difficult. Still lots of problems to iron out.'

A frown creased Otto's brow as he loosened his tie. He rubbed his eyes.

‘Would you rather not talk about it?'

‘No, I'm happy to discuss it. Why wouldn't I be? It's my job. I'm just a little fatigued, that's all. I didn't sleep on the plane.'

‘Oh no. That problem again?'

‘And we were delayed for an age at Singapore. They might at least have let us off to stretch our legs. How much smaller can they make those bloody seats? My knees were nearly higher than my head.'

Cynthia touched his shoulder with a smile.

‘No wonder you're so…'

‘So what?'

‘You know…'

‘I just need time to rest and get my head back into place. Maybe then I'll feel a little more human.'

‘Why don't you take a nap before supper? Or a hot bath, maybe?'

‘I'll go and run one.'

‘Pour yourself a brandy as well.'

‘Good idea. Do you want one?'

‘No, I'll be fine.'

Daniel tugged at Cynthia's skirt and held out the boomerang to her.

‘What's it do?' he asked.

‘Well, when you throw it in the air it turns around in a circle and comes right back to you. Then you can catch it and throw it again.'

‘Really? Wow.'

‘Shall we go and give it a try? Out in the back garden? Supper won't be ready for at least another hour.'

She took Daniel's hand and they made their way towards the french window. Otto, who was opening the drinks cabinet on the other side of the living room, called across to her.

‘Do you think that's a good idea?'

She halted and turned.

‘What?'

‘Trying it out in the garden. I'm not so sure that you should.'

‘Why not?'

Cynthia and Daniel hovered by the window.

‘Isn't it obvious?' Otto asked.

The sharpness in his own voice surprised him.

‘No, not really,' Cyn replied. ‘Perhaps you'd like to tell us.'

An edge had entered her voice in response.

Not again, both Cynthia and Otto thought, simultaneously.

He could have let it go, but he chose to ignore the warning signs. Besides, they had just spent a fortune on some new double glazing.

‘There are windows everywhere. The neighbours have just built a conservatory. You can't go recklessly flinging a boomerang around the garden. An accident of some kind is inevitable.'

Daniel was studying the boomerang.

Cynthia's cheeks flushed a little.

‘We won't “recklessly fling” anything, Otto. I'm not a hooligan, and neither is our son. We're just going to have a little practice, aren't we, Daniel? See what happens if we give it a little throw. It's only a child's boomerang – which won't go very far – and the garden, as you know, is rather large. Don't worry. We'll be careful.'

She walked away and slid open the window. Otto persevered.

‘Nevertheless, I think it's a risk. Even if you don't break any windows, you might damage the boomerang.'

Cynthia, halfway through, laughed.

‘It's meant to be thrown.'

‘I know. I'm just not sure it's such a good idea. It looks rather fragile to me.'

‘Otto, I know what I'm doing. Don't be such a mother hen. And don't buy your son a new toy and then tell him he's not allowed to play with it!'

‘It's not a toy, it's a piece of craftsmanship. I bought it mostly for its decoration. I thought that Daniel might enjoy it as an
objet d'art.
'

‘What's that?' Daniel asked. ‘Does it mean that it can't fly?'

Otto reddened at his own pomposity. Now he felt ridiculous. His embarrassment, however, only strengthened his resolve.

‘It's a beautiful object,' Cynthia said. ‘
Anyone
can appreciate that. We'll be careful not to harm it in any way. But children love to throw things, Otto, and that's what boomerangs are for. What's more, it's a stupid present to buy for a little boy if you're then going to tell him he can't use it.'

‘Stupid?'

‘No, not stupid…'

She searched around for a better word.

‘Cruel.'

‘But that's an absurd thing to say.'

Their voices had begun to flare. An argument seemed unavoidable. Yet they both became conscious of Daniel in that instant. He was holding the upturned boomerang to his face in the shape of a hopeful smile.

‘Let's talk about this later,' Cynthia said, with artificial levity.

‘Yes,' Otto replied, in an identical tone. ‘I think that's for the best.'

She turned to Daniel.

‘I'm sorry, Danny. Your father's rather tired. He's been on a big plane … all the way from Australia. He seems to be in a bit of a grump.'

Otto bristled, but said nothing.

‘We'll play with the boomerang another time,' she continued. ‘Why don't we go and look for some of your other toys? The ones that Daddy
doesn't
mind you playing with.'

‘Okay,' Daniel said brightly.

He was becoming almost as accomplished at hiding his feelings as his parents.

Daniel ran off up the stairs while Cynthia followed after him. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Otto found himself alone. Removing his tie, he went over to close the french window. Why hadn't he just let it go? Why was he starting to turn his own frustrations outwards? He hated seeing that in other fathers; now he was guilty of it himself.

‘Just have your bloody bath,' he muttered to himself.

The silence at dinner that evening was oppressive, broken only by the funereal clicking of cutlery on the plates. Otto wanted to speak, but felt ashamed of himself, doubly so, because of the maturity with which Daniel seemed to handle these domestic rows.

Is he getting used to them? Otto wondered to himself.

That, in itself, was a cause for concern.

After finishing his food, he sat awkwardly at the table for a few more minutes, almost like a child who was waiting to be excused.

‘I'll wash up,' he said, at what seemed an opportune moment.

Daniel inspected the boomerang at the table, while Cynthia sat staring out into the garden.

*   *   *

‘Why did you say I was cruel?' Otto asked her later in bed.

She had no wish to appease him, but she wanted at least to be fair in her assessment.

‘It was the wrong word to use,' she replied. ‘You're the least cruel person I know. But I do believe you were being rather selfish.'

‘But it was a gift … for Daniel.'

‘It was a gift for
yourself,
Otto.'

‘No, it wasn't. That's a ridiculous thing to say. I wanted to get him something nice. I've hardly seen him lately with all this travelling back and forth.'

‘You've noticed, then?'

‘Hm?'

‘How little time you are spending with your family.'

He leaned back against the headboard and sighed.

‘Of course I've noticed. It's a cause of constant worry to me. But I can't just cancel this project at the drop of a hat.'

‘Of course you can't cancel it …
now.
'

His head lifted up.

‘Why say it like that?'

‘You know what I think. We've discussed all this before. Priorities, Otto. Life is all about priorities. You had plenty of work on your plate already, without taking on some ambitious new commission in Brisbane. You knew you would have to make several visits onsite.'

‘You think I'm neglecting my family. Even as I work myself to the bone for us.'

‘
I've
managed to find the right balance.'

‘That's because you're fortunate enough to work from home.'

‘That's not really fair. I work hard, as you know. As hard, dare I suggest it, as you do. Designing, dealing with business enquiries, raising Daniel.'

‘With a fair degree of help from the nanny.'

‘You're suggesting I could cope without her?'

‘No, but she does make things easier for you.'

‘I realise the idea of a nanny makes you uncomfortable, Otto. Me, too … we seem to be turning into what we used to despise. But there's not really any choice, not as things stand. We've been drawn into a different way of life.'

They fell silent. Perhaps he should take back everything he had said. Cynthia, however, was wondering whether to take the discussion further.

What the hell, she thought. It's time for a bit more honesty in this marriage.

‘I find it all a grind, our life inside this house. It completely stifles me, sometimes. I love my son with all my being, but there are days when I miss the outside world. I rarely get to engage with it any more.'

He said nothing. It was dark: the moon lay hidden. He couldn't see Cynthia's face.

‘You disappear overseas on business for days and weeks at a time. When you come back home, you barely say a word to us. You're permanently tired and out of sorts.'

She no longer sounded angry, but resigned, Otto thought. These discussions were nothing new, but the tone of her voice was.

‘Anything else?' he asked her, hiding his concern behind sarcasm. The sound of his own voice was irritating to him. He should have gone straight to sleep, not started this conversation.

‘Yes. You bought Daniel a present and then stopped him from enjoying it.'

‘That again. Why are you so annoyed?'

‘Because you stopped us from having
fun,
Otto. We wanted to go outside, into the garden and the evening sunshine. You could have come with us, or at least allowed us to go quietly. But you chose to be a killjoy instead. We wanted to enjoy some laughter together. What was so wrong about that?'

‘The double glazing.'

‘Oh, sod the double glazing! So what if Daniel had broken a window? Would it really have been such a catastrophe? To tell you the truth, I feel like smashing a few windows myself, sometimes – putting a brick though next door's conservatory. I'm tired of it all, Otto. The snobbery; the pettiness. I don't know how we became like this. I preferred it when we were struggling to get by in Bloomsbury. At least we were still alive back then – not inclined to take ourselves so bloody seriously. At least we knew how to enjoy ourselves.'

Otto was shocked.

‘I had no idea you were this unhappy.'

‘That's because I've become accomplished at hiding it. I
have
to appear positive. I have no choice. There's a young child involved here, remember?'

‘But why didn't you tell me this? Why did you keep it all from me? I'm on your side. I'm here to support you both.'

Cynthia sighed.

‘You're hardly here at all, these days. And when you are, the best of you isn't. I feel terrible in saying this to you, maybe it's a mistake, but a part of me wishes you had stayed in bloody Brisbane.'

Otto said nothing. Her words had cut deeply. And she wasn't speaking from anger – that was the worst part. This was how she really felt. The calmness in her voice was troubling to him. He remained silent; wanting to speak, but not knowing what he could say to salvage the situation. When he failed to reply, Cynthia drew breath once more.

‘Open your eyes to what's happening between us. Please, Otto … open them.'