Beneath the Skin(40)
Rupert’s outburst troubles Antonia as she drives. Once he started to tell her his problems, he couldn’t stop and they tumbled out in a deluge along with his tears. It’s the detail in which he related every incident, she thinks, from his mum’s failure to join his class on school trips like the other mums, to being left alone with his chronic asthma in hotel rooms, while his parents, oblivious to his loneliness and panic, ate their dinner à deux in the restaurant downstairs.
Her heart went out to him and yet still she found it difficult to give him her full attention. She found her mind kept straying to another only boy who’d been left all alone at such an early age. ‘Be careful driving, darling. It could be icy. It’s the black ice I worry about. You can’t always see it.’ David’s words of concern, so often repeated. Yet they’ve been married for five years and never specifically had the ‘How did your parents die?’ conversation. The ‘What happened? How old were you? How did you feel?’ discussion. What little she knows of David’s parents’ death comes from Charlie, a snippet here and there, spilled out quickly when David’s not in the room. But of course that’s her fault. Any wife would ask, wouldn’t they? But if she asks, he’ll reciprocate and what then?
A beep from the car behind makes her start and she puts her mobile down on the passenger seat. Still no reply from David. Or from Helen, for that matter. She suspects Helen is angry with her for interfering, but she doesn’t much care. She still feels empowered by her sudden decision. ‘Come on, Rupert, you need to see what’s happening at the hospital for yourself. I’ll text your mum and tell her we’re on the way.’ It makes her feel like a real grown-up; not only the empathy and understanding she feels for Rupert, but the decision to do something about it.
There’s absolutely no doubt, she thinks, as she slips the car into gear, it feels good to make decisions and be useful. And for once, useful to somebody other than Sophie.
Sami lobs the half-eaten Big Mac back into its cosy little box.
I don’t even like McDonald’s, he thinks morosely, and yet I’m here, sitting on a plastic seat made for kids, rubbing shoulders with a take-out full of chavs.
A middle-aged geezer wearing a shabby tweed jacket stares at the red tray with bloodshot eyes. Sami stands, picks up the tray and places it before the man. ‘Here you go, mate. Nuggets and fries untouched.’
The man doesn’t look the least bit offended. ‘Cheers.’ He cocks his head to one side. ‘Would you like to join me?’ he asks, nodding to the vacant bench opposite him.
Sami sits down, wondering what the fuck he’s doing. He’s the only person here in a suit, his hair looks shit, his eyes sting and he’s bought an expensive green dress for Sophie that she’s sure to detest.
‘Escape from the office?’ the man asks, delicately dipping individual fries into a small plastic box of tomato ketchup.
Sami pictures the telephone on his office desk, knows it will torment him when he gets back. Clients and his mum have his private number too. Still, he’d probably best unplug it for a while. He gazes at the man, notes that his cheeks resemble red sandpaper and wonders for a moment what has brought him so low.
‘Ever made a complete arse of yourself?’ Sami asks.
The man smiles. Some teeth are missing, the others are brown. He has an eloquent voice. ‘Too often to remember. Booze. I like it more than I like anything else.’
‘I don’t even have that excuse.’
Sami rubs his eyes as he thinks about earlier. He scrambled out of his car and followed her to the house as soon as she returned, eager, smiling and stupid.
‘What are you doing here, Sami?’ she asked. ‘I’ve had a really busy morning.’ Her face was impassive with just a hint of colour in her cheeks.
‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me,’ Sami found himself saying to her. Pathetically. Like a petulant child.
The man opposite regards him with curious eyes and nibbles carefully at the chicken nuggets. But Sami drifts, picturing the frown of uncertainty on her lovely face. What is it about her? he wonders. What yanks at his heart? He’s always thought she’s attractive, but there’s something more. Something he can’t quite define, which bizarrely reminds him of his feisty eldest sister, the one who was always there for him when he was picked on at school. Ramona would laugh her socks off if he told her his heart was hurting. Indeed he would like to confide in her, she’d put him straight in a trice. But Ramona lives in America with her brood and a broken love affair isn’t something he can discuss over the telephone, even on his private bloody line.
‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ he had asked again to cover his lover’s silence.
She didn’t reply but put her keys in the lock and softly pulled him by the hand into the house, closing the door, but remaining in the hall. ‘Look, Sami, I don’t think we should do this any more.’
She’s finishing with me, he thought, his mind pitching. She’s fucking finishing with me.
‘Oh, and what is “this”?’ he asked. Defensive. Stunned. Hurt.
‘Seeing each other,’ she replied. ‘Having sex.’
‘I thought we made love,’ he said, almost shouting. No pride. No fucking pride.
She reached again for his hand. Her voice was gentle, kind. It made him feel so much worse. He felt like crying. ‘Come on, Sami, we’ve always been friends, let’s keep it that way.’