Carole wasn’t going to leave it there, though. “Who was Howard talking about?”
“What?”
“Just after you fainted, he said to Robert that someone had come back, that he had talked to him on the phone and that he was going to see him tomorrow.”
“I didn’t hear that. I must have been out cold.”
But she wasn’t convincing even herself.
“I don’t think that’s true, Marie. You heard him. Who is this man who’s come back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone Howard used to work with.”
“I think you do know. I think it was hearing he was coming back that brought on your fainting fit.”
There was a silence, which was then broken by the little whimpering sounds of Marie Martin crying.
What an incongruous conversation this is, Carole couldn’t help thinking. Here I am, on only the second occasion that I’ve met my son’s prospective mother-in-law, and I’m giving her the third degree in my car, and I’ve actually made her cry. I’m sure that’s not what’s recommended for this kind of encounter in all those books of wedding etiquette.
“It’s just here on the left. Behind that red car.”
Carole slowed the Renault down and it came to rest outside an anonymous grey block of flats, whose exterior suggested offices. Beneath the windows, panels of faded green plastic, no doubt at the cutting edge of architecture when the flats had been built, now seemed only to draw attention to the drab greyness of the prevailing concrete.
Carole was determined to get more information out of her passenger, but as soon as the car had stopped, the door was opened and, with a muttered ‘Thank you for the lift’, Mane Martin had scuttled off and into the darkness of the interior. With a sigh of exasperation, Carole Seddon slammed the Renault back into gear and drove off.
She lay on one of the twin beds in the anonymous room identical to every other anonymous room in that hotel – and in anonymous lonely hotels all over the world. She hadn’t undressed yet, but lay on top of the covers, sipping the minibar’s white wine directly from the bottle and watching the kind of television she’d never have bothered to watch at home. She felt tired, but still too unsettled for sleep.
At first she couldn’t believe it when she heard the tap on the door. Must be a loose window fitting somewhere, or someone along the corridor in another room had a visitor.
But no. The tapping started again. And definitely on her door.
She moved forward with fascinated honor. She wasn’t afraid; she just couldn’t believe what washappening because there was only one person who could possibly be tapping on her door at that time of night in that hotel.
“Hello? Who is that?”
“It’s…erm…me. David.”
Telling him to get lost – which was what she should have done – suddenly seemed an insuperable effort. She was too tired for any more conflict. Wearily, she opened the door. “What do you want?”
“Just wanted to have a word.”
He sounded maudlin drunk. Now she came to think of it, he had been putting quite a lot away at the engagement party. Oh God, any sort of David was bad enough, but a self-pitying drunken David – she didn’t feel she could cope.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Why the hell should I? We have absolutely nothing in common except for shared memories of unhappiness. What makes you think you can just…
But she didn’t say any of it. Everything felt like too much effort. She backed away from the door. “Come in.” She returned to where her wine was. She wished she’d decanted it into a glass, but she took hold of the bottle and sat demurely on the edge of the bed.
“Well, if you’re…erm…having a drink…”
“You know where the minibar is: presumably in exactly the same place as it is in your room.”
David opened the little fridge, and produced two miniature Scotches, which he poured into a plastic glass. Dear oh dear, he really was overdoing it. He looked shabbily pathetic, but if he was hoping for sympathy from Carole · he surely knew her well enough to realize how slim his chances were.
“Shall I come and…erm…sit beside you?”
“There’s a perfectly good chair over there.”
“Yes, but…” Something in her eye stopped him. He subsided into the chair and raised his plastic glass with mock bravado. “Here’s to you, Carole.”
Thank God at least that he hadn’t tried, “Here’s to us.”
He drank down about half of his drink, and then said, “I ended up walking from the other hotel. There weren’t any cabs to be had for love nor money.”
“I forgot I said I’d give you a lift. I’m sorry.” Which she wasn’t.
David swallowed down most of the rest of his drink, and was silent.
“What do you want, David?” Carole asked in exasperation. “You said you ‘just wanted to have a word’. About what?”
“Well, there are…erm…two things.”
Oh God, here we go. David had always itemized, always categorized, always spoken under headings. He had all the props of efficiency, without actually being efficient.
“First, I thought this evening went all right.”
“Presumably it went as Howard and Marie wanted it to go, yes.”
“He seemed very happy, certainly. I was talking to him just as he was leaving. But that wasn’t what I meant.”
“Sorry?”
“About this evening. What I meant was that I thought we coped with this evening very well.”
“We?”
“Yes. I’m sure we were both nervous – you know, not having seen each other for quite a while and…erm… you know, considering what happened between us.”
“What happened between us’, David, was that we got divorced. We decided we no longer wanted to be married to each other That we no longer wanted to spend time together.”
“Ah, now those are two separate things. I’d like to think that now we’ve…erm…come to terms with what happened…erm…got a bit of distance from it, that we could see each other from time to time.”
Please, no, thought Carole. I’ve got my life in Fethering. I’ve got Gulliver. I’ve got Jude. I just don’t need this.
But what she found herself saying was, “Well, we’ll have to see. I’m sure when Stephen and Gaby are married…you know, there’ll be family occasions when we meet up.”
“Like christenings, eh?” said David, with what she reckoned must have been intended to be a roguish wink.
“Maybe.”
She looked at her watch, which served to give David impetus for the other thing he had to say, “It’s about the marriage I wanted to talk to you.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it before September. All the arrangements seem to be going fine.”
“No.” He held up a rather unsteady hand. “What I wanted to ask you about the marriage was…erm…do you think it’s a good thing?”
This was so completely not the question she was expecting that Carole found herself mouthing vacuously. “Well, yes. I mean, Stephen and Gaby seem to adore each other, which is, after all, what’s most important.”
“Yes, but” – he was now wagging a finger at her – “what about the family?”
“Well, they’re very quiet, they’re not demonstrative, but it’s Gaby Stephen’s marrying, not her family.”
“But do you think our son should be allying himself to…erm…a bunch of Essex gangsters?”
“
“That boy…erm…Phil, her brother, he’s got a criminal record.”
