He opened the text message and it gave the same information in fewer words.
Marty stored the number and put down his phone. Then he picked it up again and switched it off. He did not want to speak to anyone else this evening. He needed to think.
He struggled to control his breathing.
His side ached. Something moved sluggishly beneath his skin. The world turned; the remains of the day moved briskly towards night; his life passed in a succession of moments, each a layer of his self being peeled away by the things that had happened to him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BRENDAN WAS NERVOUS. He was drinking too much, far too quickly, his clothes felt uncomfortable, and whenever he looked at the clock on the shelf, time seemed to have moved quicker than the laws of physics allowed.
Jane was in the kitchen, cooking the meal. He could tell that she was on edge, too, but she would not tell him why. He suspected it was simply the fact that she hadn’t seen Simon since he’d left the Grove, but his habitual paranoia kept trying to make more out of the situation. Did she still harbour feelings for her ex-lover? Would she look at him in the same way that she used to look at Brendan, all those years ago when they first got together?
He finished his can, crushed it in his fist (an old habit, one he’d picked up from watching
“What time is it?” Jane’s voice carried through from the kitchen. The twins were banging on the floor upstairs, running around from room to room, playing catch, or indoor football, or simply running because they could.
“Seven-forty!” He took another swig of his beer and stood, moving across to the window. Typical Simon: late as always.
“Have you checked your phone? I’d hate to think that he might have called to cancel and we didn’t get the message.” Jane moved up to him from behind, slipping her arms around his waist. She kissed him on the side of the neck. Her breath was warm; her lips were wet from the wine she’d been drinking.
“He’ll be here. He just likes to make an entrance.” He stared out of the window, at the empty street. The sky was darkening, the clouds were low, and lights had already come on in some of his neighbours’ front rooms. He’d never noticed before just how early they came on, and for some reason the thought unnerved him.
Jane rubbed his stomach with her hand. She pressed her lips against the back of his head. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “He’s probably more nervous than we are.” Then she was away, back to the kitchen to keep an eye on the preparations. She’d kept the menu simple: a prawn cocktail starter, chicken and tomato with penne pasta for main, and a cheesecake bought from the bakers on the Arcade for dessert. Simon would probably think it was cheap, working class; no doubt he was used to eating out every night in classy London restaurants where they served small bowls of sorbet between courses.
Suddenly Brendan felt like a fool. Standing there in his cheap trousers and badly ironed shirt, he knew he was a fraud, a pretender. Why had he bothered to try and be something he was not? He should have sat around waiting in his work jeans and a T-shirt. Simon-fucking-Ridley wasn’t worth all this trouble. All they were doing was feeding his ego, making him think that he was something special.
He gulped from his can, trying to stem the sudden flow of hatred. He had no idea where it was coming from, and didn’t see any reason why he should be thinking these things, or why Simon’s imminent arrival should be affecting him in this way.
He turned away from the window and sat back down on the sofa, facing the television. The kids were still clattering about upstairs, causing a lot of sound and fury, and he expected Mrs. Broadly from next door to start banging on the wall. She hated children, and never missed an opportunity to complain.
There was a knock on the front door, followed by the chime of the doorbell. Simon was here. He had sneaked along the street, down the path, and onto the front step while Brendan had been occupied, lost in his own banal thoughts. He stood, straightened his shirt (hating himself for doing so), and went to answer the door.
“Brendan!” Jane’s voice, loud and slightly panicked.
“Aye… I’ve got it. It’s him.”
He could see Simon’s outline through the textured glass panel in the door, a slim, elegant shape. He waited motionlessly, as if he were a statue and not a real person.
Brendan paused for a moment, waited for a lull in the commotion on the first floor, and then opened the door.
The man on the doorstep was Simon, as expected, but he looked different… somehow
“Are you okay?” He stepped back and opened the door fully, making room for Simon to enter.
“Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. Just feeling a bit tired, that’s all.” Simon held out a bottle of red and a bottle of white, one in each hand. “I didn’t know what we were having, so I brought both.” He smiled again, and this time it was better, healthier… but still there was something missing. “Anyway, I’m here. Thanks for the invite.” He stepped slowly across the threshold.
“Thanks for coming. You know the way through, yeah? I’ll just grab you a beer from the kitchen.” Brendan shut the door behind his guest and watched him walk along the hallway and enter the living room. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out two cold beers.
“This won’t be long,” said Jane. Her cheeks were flushed. The kitchen was warm. “I’ll go and get the twins down and we can all say our hellos.” She reached out as he straightened from the fridge, her hand lightly brushing the collar of his shirt. “Nice shirt. Didn’t I buy you that?” She winked. He smiled. It was a rare moment of solidarity, one that felt like it lay outside of their roles as parents, even as husband and wife. In that moment they were friends, and they were allies.
Brendan took the beers back into the living room. Simon was sitting on the sofa, perched on the edge of the seat and watching the television. His eyes were small and hard; his face was tense.
“There you go.” Brendan handed him a can. “Get that down you, bruiser.”
Simon opened the can, smiled weakly, and took a long swallow. “Why is it that beer always makes things better? They should give it out on the NHS.”
“Let’s turn this shit over. I’ll put some music on.” Brendan picked up the remote control and switched the channel. One of the music channels was playing big-hair rock anthems from the 1980s. “That’s better… might cheer us up.”
Sounds of movement came from upstairs. Jane was herding the kids, trying to get them under control. He could hear her raised voice, the twins giggling, and then Jane joining in the laughter. He loved his family. They were all he had. Everything he needed.
Footsteps across the ceiling, then down the stairs.
“Here they come,” he said, turning towards the door.
Jane walked in first. She looked gorgeous. Her hair was in disarray, but slight dishevelment had always looked good on her. Brendan turned to face Simon, and saw him staring at Jane, too, his eyes wide, his face twitching into a smile.
Brendan turned back to his wife, clenching the beer can in his fist. He didn’t understand why he felt so anxious.
“Hello, Simon Ridley.” Jane seemed to float into the room. With both men’s eyes upon her, she became more graceful than ever. “Long time no see.” The twins entered behind her, silent for once.
Simon stood and walked to the middle of the room, where he halted, as if he didn’t know what to do. He stuck out a hand. Jane laughed, took the hand, and shook it, then she bent towards him and kissed him on both of his cheeks, left, then right: celebrity style.
