The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(30)

He wasn’t sure if under his thick black bangs Nathan raised an eyebrow, but Arthur thought that he might have done.





London


LONDON WAS A SURPRISE, a delight even. Arthur expected to find a gray and impersonal city with buildings weighing down on him and blank Munch-like faces of disillusioned office workers. But it was vibrant, how he imagined a foreign land.

The weather was close and hot down here. Everything moved, a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors and shapes. Cabs honked their horns, bicycles whizzed by, pigeons strutted, people shouted. He heard more languages than he knew existed. He felt like he was at the center of a carousel, motionless, unnoticed, as the world whizzed around him.

Surprisingly he wasn’t overwhelmed, even when strangers bumped into him without apologizing. He wasn’t part of this strange world. He was a visitor, transient, and knew he could return to the safety of his home. This made him feel braver, intrepid.

He’d got off the train at King’s Cross and decided to walk as much as he could. The map he bought from the station made everything look close to hand.

He’d decided that his usual trousers were a bit too hot for a train journey and trip around the capital, so he’d washed, ironed and worn the blue trousers given to him by Kate Graystock. Bernadette had given him a voucher for a walking shop in Scarborough and he had ventured beyond the village and paid a visit. There he purchased a navy nylon rucksack with lots of pockets, a flask and a compass, also a pair of walking sandals. They were sturdy but would keep his feet cool.

He strode ahead with his ankle strapped tightly with bandages. His blue trousers weren’t anything out of the ordinary here as he walked alongside a girl with pink hair and a man who had holes in his ears that could fit a Coca-Cola can through. He saw a poodle with a purple pom-pom tail and a man who rode down the pavement on a unicycle while talking on his mobile phone.

The sight of the man reminded him that he hadn’t yet spoken to Lucy since he’d left a garbled message from the back of Bernadette’s car. There had been just twenty-four hours between his return from Graystock Manor and setting off on the trip to London. He had called her twice but got her answer message. He wondered if she was avoiding him or was too busy to speak.

He carried on striding out, taking in the sights and sounds, but he found that the more he walked, the more feelings of embarrassment and regret began to set in.

When Miriam once suggested a week in London for their thirtieth wedding anniversary, catching a show and maybe a lunch in Covent Garden, he had laughed. Laughed. Why did she want to go to London? he said. It was dirty and smelly and too busy and too big. It was just a bigger version of Newcastle or Manchester. There were pickpockets and beggars on every corner. Eating out would cost a fortune.

“It was just a thought,” Miriam said lightly. She hadn’t seemed too bothered that he had dismissed her suggestion out of hand.

He regretted it now. They should have visited new places together, had new experiences when the kids got older. They should have grasped the opportunity to do what they wanted to do and expand their horizons, especially now he knew that Miriam had lived a fuller, more exciting life before they met. He had stifled her. He had been so set in his ways.

The month after their conversation, Arthur booked them a minibreak in a spa hotel in Scarborough—much more civilized than London. He paid extra for an en suite room and there had been chocolate digestives on the bedside table. On the evening of their anniversary he had taken Miriam to see an Alan Ayckbourn play, which she very much enjoyed. They bought chips afterward and walked on the beach with their scarves wrapped around their heads to fend off the wind.

It had been idyllic. Well, to him, anyway. He wondered now if it had been a comedown for his wife. Had she been thinking about De Chauffant when she had suggested the trip to London? Had she hoped for a glimpse of her ex-lover?

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion that he was used to. He hated how it seemed to dig him in his side, made his stomach churn and sniggered at him. He had been wrong to laugh at Miriam. She was right. He was wrong.

He spent the day being a tourist, doing what he and Miriam should have done. He stood and gaped at the famous landmarks of London—the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben—and he loved the experience. He got on and off the red open-top tourist buses and walked where he could. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt as if the city embraced him. He had expected it to be through fear of the unknown, but it was through exhilaration.

He bought a red bus fridge magnet and a pencil with a gold plastic Tower of London on top. He stopped for lunch at the Pearly Queen café, which had stainless steel tables that sat wonkily on the pavement. A man joined him without asking. He wore a gray pin-striped suit with a pink handkerchief poking out of the pocket. His face was red, as if he had been running or something had angered him. Sitting with his legs splayed open, his knees almost touched Arthur’s. Arthur squeezed his out of the way and tried to look straight ahead. But when the man ordered a bacon and cheddar panini he made eye contact and nodded. “All right?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“You married?”

“Yes.” He automatically reached out and twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

“How long for?”

“Over forty years.”

“Jesus. You get less for murder.” The man grinned.