We were interrupted by a banging noise from upstairs, so Joe went off to see what the trouble was. ‘They’ve discovered how bouncy those old sprung mattresses are,’ he announced, on returning. ‘The little buggers are using them as trampolines.’
‘Like father, like son,’ Reg commented wryly.
Joe pulled a face.
‘Did you do that as well, you naughty boy?’ I asked him, grinning.
‘Guilty as charged,’ he said. ‘It’s actually really good fun. You can try it tomorrow, if you want. They’re only old beds, anyway.’
‘So what’s your philosophy on life, Heather?’ Reg asked me out of the blue.
I sipped at my wine, stalling for time, and frowned. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Gosh. I don’t know.’
‘Give her a break, Pops,’ Joe said. ‘She only just got here.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ I told him honestly. ‘I’m just not sure that I have a philosophy.’
‘Everybody’s got one,’ Reg said, ‘for good or bad. It’s just that some people never bother to put theirs into words.’
‘So what’s mine, then?’ Joe asked his father.
‘Be helpful to everyone,’ Reg replied, without hesitation. ‘That way, if you ever need their help, they’ll be there for you. You believe in a kind of instant karma.’
‘Oh!’ Joe said, grinning. ‘Yeah, OK. I don’t mind that one too much.’
‘And mine?’ Emma asked.
‘Yours is, always tell the truth,’ Reg said. ‘You’re the truth teller, aren’t you? You believe everyone needs to hear the truth. And you’re right, by the way. They do.’
Emma laughed. ‘That’s actually pretty accurate,’ she said.
‘And Amy’s?’ Joe asked.
‘Amy’s?’ Reg said. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I’m just wondering what you thought of her. We never talked about it, so . . .’
‘I’m not sure that’s really appropriate any more.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Emma told him. ‘If the lad’s asking, it’s appropriate. I mean, I never met her, but I can’t say I’m not intrigued. I’ve heard so many stories about her.’
‘You see, the truth teller!’ Reg said, pointing at Emma. ‘You want everyone to tell the truth, all the time.’
‘So?’ Joe prompted. ‘Go on. I’m genuinely interested.’
‘OK, if you insist. I’d say it was something like, if I keep busy enough, I won’t realise how unhappy I am.’
‘Wow,’ Joe said. ‘Talk about hitting the nail on the head. Cheers, Dad.’
‘Sorry, son,’ Reg said. ‘It’s never easy being cuckolded, but you’re well out of that particular relationship, believe me. Such a messed-up psyche . . . I’m not sure she’ll ever sort herself out, that one.’
‘Now he tells me . . .’ Joe said.
But I wasn’t really listening, because my attention was elsewhere. That word, I’d heard it before – I’d heard it in a dream. ‘Sorry, what does that mean?’ I asked. ‘Cuckolded?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Reg said.
‘It’s just that word,’ I said. ‘I don’t know it. I think I’ve heard it before, but I don’t really know what it means.’
‘Cuckolded is a very old-fashioned word for being cheated on,’ Emma explained. ‘My mother used to say it – I shan’t tell you why . . . But I don’t think anyone uses it much any more.’
‘Cuckolded,’ I repeated. ‘So it’s a verb?’
‘Or an adjective. Or a noun. A person can be a cuckold,’ Emma said.
‘So am I a cuckold?’ I asked, still trying to grasp the exact meaning of the word.
‘Kind of,’ Joe said. ‘It’s usually just used for guys, though. I became a cuckold over in Spain.’
‘For women, it’s cuckquean, I think,’ Emma said.
‘But it might be cool if we could change the subject?’ Joe said.
‘It was you that brought Amy up,’ Emma pointed out.
But I wasn’t listening any more. All I could think was, Go with the cuckold, over and over. Because I was sure that’s what my mother had said. Go with the cuckold. All the hairs were standing up on my neck and beads of sweat were breaking out on my forehead. I could see the dream in my mind’s eye with such clarity, it was if my mother was here with me now, standing in front of the fireplace. But of course her words couldn’t have made any sense back then, because she’d spoken them long before my husband and Amy had made cuckolds of Joe and me.
‘Me?’ Reg was saying, when I eventually managed to tune back into the conversation.
‘Yes, you,’ Emma said. ‘You’re so good at analysing everyone else, but what about you? What’s your philosophy?’
‘Oh, trying to explain stuff, I suppose.’
‘Trying to explain what, though?’ Emma asked. ‘Life? People? The universe?’
‘Everything,’ Reg replied, matter-of-factly. ‘But people mainly, I suppose. People are far less upsetting if you try to work out the whys.’
‘Example?’ Joe asked.
‘Well, the extreme example would have to be the serial killer,’ Reg said.
‘The serial killer?’ I asked, a little horrified.
‘There’s a reason for everything,’ Reg said. ‘And there’s even a reason why the serial killer kills. Or Hitler. Hitler’s a good example, too. The extremes are helpful when thinking about these matters. You’d probably have to dig through every tiny detail of Hitler’s childhood, or his genes, or his parents’ upbringing, but there’s a reason in there somewhere. Nothing happens without a cause.’
‘Um, I’m not that sure I want to excuse Hitler, Dad,’ Joe said.
‘Ah, but no one’s talking about excusing him, are they?’ Reg said. ‘Nothing could ever excuse the Third Reich. But understanding why things happen – well, that’s useful. Because it means you can stop them happening all over again.’
By the time we decided to retire, my mind and body were buzzing. I was more than a little tipsy, it’s true, but the revelation about my dream had left me electrified. After all, had my dream mother really predicted a relationship with Joe, years before I’d even met him? How could that even be possible? And if it was, what if she had been right? What if Joe really was my destiny?
On top of all of this, the conversation with Reg and Emma had been the most stimulating I’d had in years – ever, in fact. How wonderful it
