One Plus One

  Mr. Nicholls was seated on a low stone wall when she finally walked out. His elbows were on his knees and he was staring at the grass.

  Jess held out the pint and he stared at it for a moment, then took it from her. "Thanks." He looked exhausted.

  "Everything okay?"

  "No." He took a long gulp of his beer. "Nothing's okay."

  She sat down a few feet away. "Anything I can help with?"

  "No."

  They sat in silence. It was so peaceful there, with nothing around them except the breeze rippling across the moors, and the gentle hum of conversation from inside. She was going to say something about the landscape when his voice broke into the still air.

  "Fuck it," Mr. Nicholls said vehemently. "Just fuck it."

  Jess flinched.

  "I just can't believe my fucking life has turned into this . . . mess." His voice cracked. "I can't believe that I can work and work for years and the whole thing can fall apart like this. For what? For fucking what?"

  "It's only food poisoning. You'll--"

  "I'm not talking about the fucking kebab." He dropped his head into his hands. "But I don't want to talk about it." He shot her a warning look.

  "Okay."

  "That's the thing. Legally, I'm not meant to talk to anyone about any of this."

  She didn't look at him.

  "I can't tell a soul."

  She stretched out a leg and gazed at the sunset. "Well, I don't count, do I? I'm a cleaning wench."

  He let out a breath. "Fuck it," he said again.

  And then he told her, his head down, his hands raking his short dark hair. He told her about a girlfriend with whom he couldn't think how to break up nicely, and how his whole life had come crashing down. He told her about his company and how he should have been there now, celebrating the launch of his last six years' obsessive work. And how instead he had to stay away from everything and everyone he knew all the while facing the prospect of prosecution. He told her about his dad and about the lawyer who had just rung to inform him that shortly after he returned from this trip his presence would be required at a police station in London where he would be charged with insider trading, a charge that could win him up to twenty years in prison. By the time he'd finished, she felt winded.

  "Everything I've ever worked for. Everything I cared about. I'm not allowed to go into my own office. I can't even go back to my flat in case the press hear of it and I let slip what's happened. I can't go and see my own dad because then he'll die knowing what a bloody idiot his son is. And the stupid thing is, I miss him. I really miss him."

  Jess digested this for a few minutes. He smiled bleakly at the sky. "And you know the best bit? It's my birthday."

  "What?"

  "Today. It's my birthday."

  "Today? Why didn't you say anything?"

  "Because I'm thirty-four years old, and a thirty-four-year-old man sounds like a dick talking about birthdays." He took a swig of his beer. "And what with the whole food-poisoning thing, I didn't feel I had much to celebrate." He looked sideways at Jess. "Plus you might have started singing 'Happy Birthday' in the car."

  "I'll sing it out here."

  "Please don't. Things are bad enough."

  Jess's head was reeling. She couldn't believe all the stuff Mr. Nicholls was carrying around. If he had been anyone else, she might have put her arm around him, attempted to say something comforting. But Mr. Nicholls was prickly.

  "Things will get better, you know," she said, when she couldn't think of anything else to say. "Karma will get that girl who messed you up."

  He pulled a face. "Karma?"

  "It's like I tell the kids. Good things happen to good people. You just have to keep faith--"

  "Well, I must have been a complete shit in a past life."

  "Come on. You still have property. You have cars. You have your brain. You have expensive lawyers. You can work this out."

  "How come you're such an optimist?"

  "Because things do come right."

  "And that's from a woman who doesn't have enough money to catch a train."

  Jess kept her gaze on the craggy hillside. "Because it's your birthday, I'm going to let that one go."

  Mr. Nicholls sighed. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help. But right now I find your positivity exhausting."

  "No, you find driving hundreds of miles in a car with three people you don't know and a large dog exhausting. Go upstairs and have a long bath and you'll feel better. Go on."

  He trudged inside, the condemned man, and she sat and stared out at the slab of green moorland in front of her. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be facing prison, not to be allowed near the things or the people you loved. She tried to imagine someone like Mr. Nicholls doing time.

  After a while, she walked inside with the empty glasses. She leaned over the bar, where the landlady was watching an episode of Homes Under the Hammer. The men sat in silence behind her, watching it, too, or gazing rheumily into their pints.

  "Mrs. Deakins? It's actually my husband's birthday today. Would you mind doing me a favor?"

  --

  Mr. Nicholls finally came downstairs at eight thirty, wearing the same clothes he'd worn that afternoon. And the previous afternoon. Jess knew he had bathed, though, as his hair was damp and he was clean shaven.

  "So what's in your bag, then? A body?"

  "What?" He walked over to the bar. He gave off a faint scent of Wilkinson Sword soap.

  "You've worn the same clothes since we left."

  He looked down, as if to check. "Oh. No. These are clean."

  "You have the same T-shirt and jeans? For every day?"

  "Saves thinking about it."

  She looked at him for a minute, then decided to bite back what she had been about to say. It was his birthday after all.

  "Oh. You look nice," he said suddenly, as if he'd only just noticed.

  She had changed into a blue sundress and a cardigan. She had planned to save it for the Olympiad, but figured that this was important. "Well, thank you. One has to make the effort to fit one's surroundings, doesn't one?"

  "What--you left your flat cap and dog-haired jeans behind?"

  "You're about to be sorry for your sarcasm. Because I have a surprise in store."

  "A surprise?" He looked instantly wary.

  "It's a good one. Here." Jess handed him one of two glasses she had prepared earlier, to Mrs. Deakins's amusement. They hadn't made a cocktail here since 1997, Mrs. Deakins had observed, as Jess checked the dusty bottles behind the optics. "I figure you're well enough."

  "What is this?" He stared at it suspiciously.

  "Scotch, triple sec, and orange juice."

  He took a sip. And then a larger one. "This is all right."

  "I knew you'd like it. I made it especially for you. It's called a Mithering Bastard."

  --

  The white plastic table sat in the middle of the threadbare lawn, with two place settings of stainless-steel cutlery and a candle in a wine bottle in the middle. Jess had wiped the chairs with a bar cloth so that there was no moss left on them and now pulled one out for him.

  "We're eating alfresco. Birthday treat." She ignored the look he gave her. "If you would like to take your seat, I'll go and inform the kitchen that you're here."

  "It's not breakfast muffins, is it?"

  "Of course it's not breakfast muffins." She pretended to be offended. As she walked toward the kitchen, she muttered, "Tanzie and Nicky had the rest of those."

  When she arrived back at the table, Norman had flopped down on Mr. Nicholls's foot. Jess suspected that Mr. Nicholls would quite like to have moved it, but she had been sat on by Norman before and he was a deadweight. You just had to pray that he shifted before your foot went black and fell off.

  "How was your aperitif?"

  Mr. Nicholls gazed at his empty cocktail glass. "Delicious."

  "Well, the main course is on its way. I'm afraid it's just the two of us this evening,
as the other guests had prior arrangements."

  "Teenager-heavy soap opera and some completely insane algebraic equations?"

  "You know us too well." Jess sat down in her chair, and, as she did, Mrs. Deakins picked her way across the lawn, the Pomeranians yapping at her feet. She held aloft two plates.

  "There you go," she said, placing them on the table. "Steak and kidney. From Ian up the road. He does a lovely meat pie."

  Jess was so hungry by then she thought she could probably have eaten Ian. "Fantastic. Thank you," she said, laying a paper napkin on her lap.

  Mrs. Deakins stood and gazed around, as if seeing the setting for the first time. "We never eat out here. Lovely idea. I might offer it to my other customers. And those cocktails. I could make a package of it."

  Jess thought about the old men in the bar. "Shame not to," she said, passing the vinegar across to Mr. Nicholls. He seemed temporarily stunned.

  Mrs. Deakins rubbed her hands on her apron. "Well, Mr. Nicholls, your wife is certainly determined to show you a good time on your birthday," she said with a wink.

  He glanced up at her. "Oh. There's never a quiet moment with Jess," he said, letting his gaze slide back to hers.

  "So how long have you two been married?"

  "Ten years."

  "Three years."

  "The children are from my previous marriages," Jess said, slicing into the pie.

  "Oh! That's--"

  "I rescued her," said Mr. Nicholls. "From the side of the road."

  "He did."

  "That's very romantic." Mrs. Deakins's smile wavered a little.

  "Not really. She was being arrested at the time."

  "I've explained all that. Wow, these chips are delicious."

  "You have. And those policemen were very understanding. Considering."

  Mrs. Deakins had started to back away. "Well, that's lovely. It's nice that you're still together."

  "We get by."

  "We have no choice right now."

  "That's true, too."

  "Could you bring out some red sauce?"

  "Oh, good idea. Darling."

  As she disappeared, Mr. Nicholls nodded toward the candle and the plates. And then he looked up at Jess and he was no longer scowling. "This is actually the best pie and chips I've ever eaten in a weird bed-and-breakfast somewhere I've never heard of on the north Yorkshire moors."

  "I'm so glad. Happy birthday."

  They ate in companionable silence. It was astonishing how much better a hot meal and a strong cocktail could make you feel. Norman groaned and flopped over onto his side, releasing Mr. Nicholls's foot. Ed stretched his leg speculatively, perhaps trying to see whether he still could.

  He looked up at her, and raised his refreshed cocktail glass. "Seriously. Thank you." Without his glasses on, she noticed now that he had ridiculously long eyelashes. It made her feel weirdly conscious of the candle in the middle of the table. It had been a bit of a joke when she'd asked for it.

  "Well . . . it was the least I could do. You did rescue us. From the side of the road. I don't know what we would have done."

  He speared another chip and held it aloft. "Well, I like to look after my staff."

  "I think I preferred it when we were married."

  "Cheers." He grinned at her, his eyes wrinkling. And it was so genuine and unexpected that she found herself grinning back.

  "Here's to tomorrow. And Tanzie's future."

  "And a general absence of more crap."

  "I'll drink to that."

  --

  The evening crept into night, eased by alcohol, and the happy knowledge that nobody had to sleep in a car, or needed frequent, urgent access to a bathroom. Nicky came down, gazed suspiciously from under his fringe at the men in the snug, who gazed equally suspiciously back at him, and retreated to his bedroom to watch television. Jess drank three glasses of acidic Liebfraumilch, went inside to check on Tanzie and take her some food. She made her promise she would not study later than ten o'clock. "Can I keep working in your room? Nicky has the telly on."

  "That's fine," Jess said.

  "You smell of wine," Tanzie said pointedly.

  "That's because we're sort of on holiday. Mums are allowed to smell of wine when they're sort of on holiday."

  "Hm." She gave Jess a severe look and turned back to her books.

  Nicky was sprawled on one of the single beds watching television. She shut the door behind her and sniffed the air.

  "You haven't been smoking, have you?"

  "You've still got my stash."

  "Oh yes." She had completely forgotten. "But you slept without it. Last night and the night before."

  "Mm."

  "Well, that's good, right?"

  He shrugged.

  "I think the words you were looking for are: 'Yes, it's great that I no longer need illegal substances simply to fall asleep.' Right, up you get for a minute. I need you to help me lift a mattress." When he didn't move, she said, "I can't sleep in there with Mr. Nicholls. We'll make another bed on the floor of your room, okay?"

  He sighed, but he got up and helped. He didn't wince anymore when he moved, she noticed. On the carpet beside Tanzie's bed, the mattress left just enough room for them to slide in and out of the door, which now only opened six inches.

  "This is going to be fun if I need the loo in the night."

  "Go last thing. You're a big boy." She told Nicky to turn off the television at ten so as not to disturb Tanzie, and left them both upstairs.

  --

  The candle had long since expired in the stiff evening breeze, and when they could no longer see each other, they moved indoors. The conversation had meandered from parents and first jobs on to relationships. Jess told him about Marty and how he had once bought her an extension cord for her birthday, protesting, "But you said you needed one!" In turn, he told her about Lara the Ex and how on her birthday he had once arranged for a chauffeur to pick her up for a surprise breakfast at a smart hotel with her friends, then spend the morning in Harvey Nichols with a personal shopper and an unlimited budget. And how when he'd met her for lunch, she had complained bitterly because he hadn't taken the whole day off work. Jess thought she'd quite like to slap Lara the Ex's overly made-up face. (She had invented this face: it was probably more drag queen than was strictly necessary.) "Did you have to pay her alimony?"

  "Didn't have to, but I did. Until she let herself into the apartment and helped herself to my stuff for the third time."

  "Did you get it back?"

  "It wasn't worth the hassle. If a silk screen of Mao Tse-tung is that important to her, she can have it."

  "What was it worth?"

  "What?"

  "The painting."

  He shrugged. "A few grand."

  "You and I speak different languages, Mr. Nicholls."

  "You think? Okay, then, how much maintenance does your ex pay you?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?" His eyebrows had lifted to somewhere round his hairline. "Nothing at all?"

  "He's a mess. You can't punish someone for being a mess."

  "Even if it means you and the kids have to struggle?"

  How could she explain? It had taken her two years to work it out herself. She knew the kids missed him, but she was secretly relieved Marty had gone. She was relieved that she didn't have to worry about whether he was going to hijack their futures with his next ill-thought-out scheme. She was weary of his black moods and that he was permanently exhausted by the children. Mostly she was tired of never doing anything right. Marty had liked the sixteen-year-old Jess: the wild, impulsive, responsibility-free Jess. Then he had weighed her down with responsibility and hadn't liked who had emerged from under it.

  "When he's sorted himself out, I'll make sure he contributes his share again. But we're okay." Jess glanced upstairs to where Nicky and Tanzie were sleeping. "I think this will be our turning point. And besides, you probably won't understand this, and I know everyone thinks they're a bit odd,
but I'm the lucky one having them. They're kind and funny." She poured herself another glass of wine and took a gulp. It was definitely getting easier to drink.

  "They're nice kids."

  "Thank you," she said. "Actually, I realized something today. The last few days have been the first time I can remember where I just got to be with them. Not working, not running around doing housework or shopping or trying to catch up on all the stuff. It's been nice just hanging out with them, if that doesn't sound daft."

  "It doesn't."

  "And Nicky's sleeping. He never sleeps. I'm not sure what you did for him, but he seems--"

  "Oh, we just redressed the balance a little."

  Jess raised her glass. "Then one good thing happened on your birthday: you cheered up my boy."

  "That was yesterday."

  She thought for a moment. "You didn't vomit once."

  "Okay. Stop now."

  Mr. Nicholls's whole body had finally relaxed. He leaned back, his long legs stretched out under the table. For some time now one of them had been resting against hers. She had thought fleetingly that she should move it, and hadn't, and now she couldn't without looking as if she were making a point. She felt it, an electric presence, against her bare leg.

  She quite liked it.

  Because something had happened somewhere between the pie and chips and the last round, and it wasn't just drink. She wanted Mr. Nicholls not to feel angry and hopeless. She wanted to see that big, sleepy grin of his, the one that seemed to defuse all the suppressed anger spread across his face.

  "You know, I've never met anyone like you," he said, gazing at the table.

  Jess had been about to make a joke about cleaners and baristas and staff, but instead she just felt this great lurch in the pit of her belly and found herself picturing the taut V of his bare torso in the shower. And then she wondered what it would be like to have sex with Mr. Nicholls.

  The shock of this thought was so great that she nearly said it out loud--I think it would be nice to have sex with Mr. Nicholls. She looked away, blushing, and gulped the remaining quarter glass of wine.

  Mr. Nicholls was looking at her. "Don't take offense. I meant it in a good way."

  "I'm not taking offense." Even her ears had gone pink.

  "You're just the most positive person I've ever met. You never seem to feel sorry for yourself. Every obstacle that comes your way, you just scramble over it."

  "Ripping my trousers and falling over in the process."

  "But you keep going."

  "When someone helps me."

  "Okay. This simile is becoming confusing." He took a swig of his beer. "I just . . . wanted to tell you. I know it's nearly over. But I've enjoyed this trip. More than I expected to."