A Minor Indiscretion

  Christian half opened his eyes and regarded himself critically. He seemed to have ketchup in places that shouldn’t necessarily be smeared with condiments.

  “I have spent the afternoon in that popular version of Armageddon they call McDonald’s.”

  “Ah.”

  “And I am utterly, utterly exhausted.”

  “You look it.”

  “That is because I have just met the children from hell.” Christian clinked his bottle against Robbie’s and downed a mouthful.

  “Ali’s brood?”

  Christian nodded.

  Rebecca opened the door and strode into the room. “She’s got children?”

  Christian and Robbie exchanged glances.

  “Why did no one tell me?”

  Christian and Robbie exchanged glances again.

  “I wasn’t snooping,” Rebecca snapped. “You two don’t realize how loudly you talk. Or do anything else.” She looked pointedly at Christian.

  “If you didn’t walk out of the room every time Ali came in, then you might have had a conversation with her about them.”

  Rebecca grunted in a way that said “fat chance.” She crossed to the sink and busied herself making a cup of tea. “So, how many kids has she got?”

  “Three.”

  “Three? Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

  Robbie laughed. “You’ve got none, then suddenly, three come along at once. Like buses.”

  “And women,” Rebecca added. Robbie sniggered.

  She brought her tea to the table and sat down opposite them. “What flavor are they?”

  “Two footballers and a shopper.”

  “Ages?”

  “Fifteen, twelve and the little one’s four, but he could easily be a hundred and four. He’s like Yoda. He misses nothing.”

  “Do they call you Uncle Christian?”

  “Leave it, Becs,” he warned. “I’m just going to have to try harder. They made it pretty clear they didn’t want me around.”

  “Of course they don’t. You’re stealing their mother.”

  “I’m not stealing her.”

  “Oh.” Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Are you going to give her back when you’re finished with her?”

  “I want her in my life, Becs. Permanently. If that means I have to make compromises, then it has to be that way.”

  “You won’t even compromise about which side of the bed you sleep on, Christian. Speaking of which…” Rebecca pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “That girl Sharon phoned today.”

  The boys looked blankly at her.

  “You know, the one that spent the night with Robbie just before Mother Earth moved in.” She gave them both a knowing look. “Funnily enough, she phoned for you, Christian.”

  Robbie and Christian avoided looking at each other.

  “What did she want?” Christian asked.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. What do you think she wants?”

  “A repeat shag would be my bet,” Robbie said.

  His friend glared at him.

  Robbie looked vacant. “What?”

  Rebecca held out the slip of paper and Christian took it. He scrunched it up and put it in his pocket without looking at it. “I’m in a committed relationship now,” he said. “Things are different.”

  “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you talk out of your arse, Christian,” Rebecca said. And she left the room, taking her tea with her and banging the door behind her.

  Christian and Robbie looked at each other. “Dotty totty,” they said in unison, and clinked their beer bottles together.

  Robbie settled into the sofa. “So you think you’ll stay with this bird?”

  Christian nodded. “She gives my heart wings.”

  “Have you been at the wacky baccy again, mate?”

  “No.” Christian’s eyes twinkled. “Why? Have you got any?”

  Robbie smiled. “Is the Pope a very fine upstanding Catholic gentleman?”

  “I think you’ll find he is,” Christian said.

  “Then I will be back momentarily,” Robbie said, springing to his feet. “I think we are both deserving of a little chemical-induced relaxation at the end of a particularly stressful day.”

  Christian tried to blow a smoke ring and failed. The spliff had taken the tension from his shoulders and had made the room blur at the edges. He was at one with the soft furnishings and the cushions folded around him like fluffy clouds. He narrowed his eyes and peered through the fug.

  “I want to do this right,” he said sleepily.

  “Right,” Robbie echoed. His legs were stretched across Christian’s lap and his feet were on the arm of the sofa next to him. Robbie’s feet weren’t fragrant and lovely, but he was Christian’s best, best mate in the whole world, and he wasn’t about to ask Robbie to move them. And, besides, Robbie was balancing the ashtray between his knees.

  “Right,” Christian agreed.

  “What?”

  “This whole commitment thing.”

  “Right.”

  Christian took a long, soothing toke. “I want to get a job.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “I do,” Christian insisted. “I do. I do.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “A nice little nine-to-five job that pays a shit-load of cash.”

  “No, no, no!”

  “I want to look after Ali. I want to look after her children.”

  “No, no, no!”

  “I do. Everyone loves children.” Christian waved his hands expansively.

  “I don’t,” Robbie said.

  “I don’t either. But I will.”

  “Becca doesn’t.”

  “Okay. Well, not everyone. But nearly everyone.”

  Taking another long, lingering toke, Christian, with wavering fingers, passed the spliff back to his friend.

  Robbie took it as if it were a china vase. “Do you think we should give Becca some puff?”

  Christian shook his head vigorously.

  “She’s a bit uptight,” Robbie observed.

  “I don’t think she likes Ali,” Christian ventured.

  “I like her.”

  “I like her too.” Christian sighed. “I love her.”

  Robbie grinned inanely. “Awww.”

  “I want to go away with her.”

  “Awww.”

  “I want to take her on a big, nice cuddly holiday with lots of sun and sea and sex.”

  “Awww.”

  “Awww,” Christian beamed.

  “And run up and down the beach without your togs on?”

  “Mmm…” they both agreed.

  Robbie’s legs hit the floor with a thump as Christian pushed them from his lap. “I’m bloody well going to do it,” he said.

  Robbie tried to focus his eyes. “Get a job?”

  “What job?”

  “I don’t know. I thought you were going to get a job.”

  “No, no, no. I’m going on holiday!”

  “But you haven’t got any money.”

  Christian stood up, weaving slightly like a drunk. He tapped the side of his nose and then giggled into his hand. “But I know exactly where I can get some!”

  Robbie licked his lips and waved the spliff toward Christian. “What are you up to, Winter, you bastard?”

  “You wait and see,” Christian wandered toward the door, taking the scenic route.

  “What was it Rebecca said about talking out of your arse?” Robbie teased

  “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

  “Is that the same as a leopard never changing its spots?”

  “I think it might well be,” Christian said. And, accompanied by his friend, he burst out laughing.

  CHAPTER 44

  The phone was ringing, and Ed smoothed down his hair, fidgeting on his kitchen stool. He must get it cut. Ali normally made his appointments and he just t
rotted along at the allotted time. He’d found the business card for the salon, but hadn’t yet found time to get there. Elliott’s hair was looking a bit more like a windswept sheep than normal, so he probably ought to drag him along too.

  At the other end of the line, Nicola Jones picked up the phone. “Hello.” Her soft, breathy voice caressed his ear.

  Ed adjusted the collar of his polo shirt. “Hi. Nicola. It’s Ed. Ed Kingston.” As in: James. James Bond. Smooth. Ed smiled down the phone.

  “Ed. Lovely to hear from you.”

  “I know this is a bit short notice, but well…” This was the tricky bit. Ed’s heart was doing a salsa rhythm. “Well… I wondered if you were doing anything tonight?”

  “Tonight? Er…no. No, I’m not.”

  “Good. Good. Well, no, not good that you’re not doing anything. Well, yes. Good.”

  Elliott walked past. “Daddy, you’re wittering.”

  Ed folded his hand over the mouthpiece. “Shut up, Elliott!”

  Elliott helped himself to a Mars bar and left.

  “Elliott, you’ll ruin your appetite!” But his son had already gone. Ed returned to his phone call. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. How are you coping?”

  “Badly,” Ed admitted. “But that wasn’t why I was ringing. I wondered if, well, if you’d like to come over for a bite of supper tonight.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “Would it? Yes, yes. Of course, it would.” Ed could feel his brow perspiring. This was ridiculous. He’d asked women out before. Hadn’t he? He must have done. How did he end up with Ali otherwise? It was just that he was out of practice. “About eight?”

  “Eight would be fine.”

  Eight would be fine, he hoped, because then all the children would be out of the way. It was rather strange having to conduct your entire social life from between four walls, but needs must. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” Nicola replied.

  Ed hung up. Elliott put his head round the door. He had Mars bar smeared round his mouth. “Can I stay up?”

  “No,” Ed said. “And wipe your mouth before you put chocolate all over the sofa.” He dialed another number. “Neil!”

  “Bro!”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Fancy coming round for some supper tonight? Nothing fancy.”

  “Since when have you done fancy?”

  “I’m a new man.” He wasn’t really, but at least he was trying to make an effort and not go to pieces or hit the bottle like some sad sacks would. The Groucho Club had seen precious little of his custom in recent weeks, and there was no fun to be had in drinking Jacob’s Creek in front of Law & Order alone. So, essentially, it was boredom that had brought him to meddle in his brother’s love life. “About seven-thirty?” Neil was always “fashionably” late and he didn’t want to be sitting around with Nicola like a pair of bookends waiting for him to arrive.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Great.” Ed grinned to himself and rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. This was easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.

  Ed had found a tablecloth and some candles and was currently going to great trouble to arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing manner. He stood back and admired his handiwork.

  “Matchmaker, matchmaker…la, la, la, la…la, la, la, la.”

  And then the song went on about making a match and finding a find or catching a catch. Or something. The big Hollywood musicals had never really been his thing, that was Ali’s forte. He was more of a Bach or Bruce Springsteen bloke.

  Elliott leaned on the door frame in his pajamas chewing Barney’s ear. “Come here,” Ed said, and Elliott rushed to him for a hug. Ed felt a surge of love for his son even though at times he could gleefully choke him.

  “Are you going to snog Miss Jones?”

  This was one of those times. “Elliott, if you want to live to see your eighteenth birthday, I suggest you start behaving yourself.”

  “So you are going to snog her.”

  “No. No. I’m not going to snog anyone.” Although I might thrash you within an inch of your life! “What’s this obsession with snogging?”

  “I’m worried,” Elliott confided, eyes brimming with tears. “We seem to have an awful lot of mummies these days.”

  Ed crouched down and cuddled his son. “You don’t,” he said. “You only have one mummy and no one can take her place.” And suddenly there was a searing, burning feeling through his guts that gripped him as if he’d swallowed ammonia. Yesterday, when said mummy had brought the children home, he had wanted to tell her that this had all been a terrible, terrible mistake and that he wanted her back. On her terms. He’d do anything as long as he didn’t have to deal with any more real life. It was too exhausting and empty without her. He would eat chicken nuggets daily until he died, if that’s what it took. And he was going to tell her this. All of this. But she rushed in white-faced, drawn and distressed, and had rushed back out again, back to her toy-boy lover, before he’d had the chance to say a word. He missed Ali. He missed her so much it kept him wide-eyed until three o’clock every morning, when he fell into an exhausted sleep. But she didn’t seem to be missing him. Ed pushed the thought away. “I’ve invited Miss Jones, Nicola, so that she can meet Uncle Neil.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think she’ll like him.”

  “Doesn’t she like you?”

  “I think she does.”

  “Do you like her?”

  “I do. She’s very nice.”

  “And does Uncle Neil like her?”

  “I hope he will.” Ed put his finger to his lips. “But that’s to be our little secret. We mustn’t tell Uncle Neil.”

  “Why?”

  “Er…” Ed racked his brains. “I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.”

  “Explain it now.”

  “Go and do something useful, Elliott.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His son stomped to the kitchen door. “Why do grown-ups always have to mix things up?” he said with an exasperated sigh.

  Why indeed? Ed wondered.

  Neil and Miss Nicola Jones were laughing at each other’s jokes, which was always a good sign. Neil was in excellent form, sparkling, happy and looked more laid-back than he usually did—which was saying something. And, flying in the face of convention, he’d been early for once, which meant they’d managed to get conversations which contained the word “Alicia” out of the way before Nicola arrived.

  Ed, too, felt more relaxed than he had done in days, which was nice and was probably attributable to the amount of wine he’d glugged; now he was tidying up around them, imagining himself in the role of mother hen. He’d cooked a proper dinner. Well—only salmon fillets, salad and wild rice, but at least it was better than the dehydrated gloop out of a packet which is what they ate most evenings. Gloop that still looked like all the manky bits that had been scraped from the floor under the cooker no matter how much water you added to it and for how long you simmered it.

  Nicola Jones was looking particularly gorgeous tonight. Her cheeks had taken on a pink blush from the wine, and her eyes were shining brightly. Her laugh was soft and genuine, and you just couldn’t help but smile along with her. And although, initially, she’d looked slightly taken aback that his brother had been there at all, she was now giggling heartily at another of Neil’s outrageous tales. Ed smirked to himself. This was all going rather well.

  “Dessert?” Ed ventured. He had cheated here. Fazed by the plethora of Alicia’s cookery books and the endless lists of ingredients and garbled instructions they contained just for knocking up a pud, he’d dashed out and bought the last thing they had left in the little patisserie in the High Street. It was a chocolate and cherry calorie-mountain thing and looked good enough to eat. Which was a bit of luck.

  Nicola nodded. “Mmm.”

  N
eil sat back and massaged his tummy. “Would love to, bro, but I can’t stay.”

  Ed nearly dropped the stack of plates he was holding. “What?”

  “Gotta go.”

  Miss Nicola Jones tilted her head to one side. “Oh.”

  “Busy, busy,” Neil apologized.

  Ed could feel that his face had blanched. “You’re never busy.”

  Neil looked hurt. “I resent that remark.” He stood up and pushed his chair back from the table. “Tonight, I really am busy.”

  “You can’t be,” Ed said.

  “Look—I am. Okay?” Neil repeated tightly.

  “But you haven’t had dessert.”

  Neil patted Ed’s stomach. “A few more calories won’t hurt. You’ll have to eat it for me.” He smiled at Nicola. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Nicola.”

  “You too.”

  “Have coffee,” Ed pleaded. “Brandy? Choccy mint sticks?”

  “Bye!” Neil waved at Nicola and headed for the door.

  Ed put down the plates. “I’ll see you out.”

  Neil frowned. “I haven’t stolen the silver.”

  Ed forced a smile. “Back in a minute,” he said to Nicola.

  He bustled Neil into the hall and closed the door behind them. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

  “Leaving,” Neil hissed back.

  “Why?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “You can’t just walk out on Nicola like that.”

  “She doesn’t mind.”

  The blood rushed back to Ed’s face. “Well, I do.”

  “Am I missing something here, bro? I’m sure you don’t need me as a chaperone.” Neil winked. “It all seems to be going rather well.”

  “I thought so too!” Ed realized he’d hissed rather loudly and checked the door behind him. He took Neil’s elbow and moved him toward the front door. “Nicola is a lovely woman.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Neil said. “Nice hair. Great tits.”

  “Is that all that matters to you?”