The Reunion (2 page)

David was addicted to perusingand mocking the
Femail
section. An article covered a new drama about vampires which was, claimed the
journalist, sucking the innocence out of our children with a shocking tale of
depravity that has become the norm on television. His daughter Rachel loved the
programme. David couldn’t gauge the extent of her innocence, she was probably
the same as most other sixteen year olds in keeping her feelings very much to
herself, but there was no evidence of anything being sucked out by what she
watched.

On the same page a woman’s life of drink and one-night
stands had left her feeling hollow. But then she found the answer: ‘I’m going
to become a nun.’ Two photographs showed the before and after. The first a
smiling woman with a rather low cut top, holding up a glass of red wine. The
second a dour woman, her mane of jet black hair now covered or possibly even discarded,
replaced by a nun’s customary headgear. David smiled a self-righteous smile,
the writer’s implied preference for the nun at odds with the saucy underwear
display ‘to capture your man’ on the previous page.

What a contrast between the women featured on these pages
and sensible, practical, lovable Jane – he was lucky to have such a wonderful
wife. He read on. The stock market was continuing its downward trend with the
companies he had a few shares in doing particularly badly.

All in all it had been a satisfying afternoon. He’d
pruned the roses, taken the dead heads off the geraniums and swept up the first
wave of fallen leaves. The garden waste had been deposited in the green
recycling bin ready for the Monday collection. It was his turn to cook tonight.
The lamb was out the freezer and a bottle of Pinot Grigio, Jane’s favourite,
was in the fridge.

His wife was out shopping, a regular Saturday pursuit. She
favoured going to Brent Cross over the local precinct despite the distance and
the queue of drivers battling to get into one of the substantial but still
inadequate car parks. Inside the mall there were two vast walkways to trek
round, as big as athletics tracks. At least in a race everybody was going the
same way, but here a stream of determined shoppers struggled to pass those
travelling in the opposite direction. For years David had kept his dislike of
these trips to himself and selflessly accompanied Jane on her expeditions. But
a while back she must have sensed that David hated the experience and volunteered
to go alone. She seemed happy window shopping, for despite being away for hours,
she rarely came back with a purchase.

He didn’t hear the front door open and only looked up
when she called his name.

There was an urgency to her tone. “David,” she repeated.

Smiling, he turned to face her. “Hello Jane. Have you had
a good time? Oh hello there, Jim. How are things with you?”

Jim stood by her side, his face serious. Then as David
glanced down he saw they were holding hands. Instantly his heart was pounding,
his skin itching with prickly heat, his mouth dry, he couldn’t speak. His mind
raced, searching for an explanation beyond the one that he knew had to be. As
he awaited the awful inevitability of what was to come, the few seconds’
interval stretched on endlessly.

It was Jane who spoke, getting straight to the point. “Jim
and I are in love, David. We’ve been in a relationship for a couple of months
and we both know we can’t live apart. We’ve tried to fight it, but it isn’t
possible. I’ve decided to move in with him.”

There was a pause, perhaps inviting a reaction from
David, but he remained speechless. Unexpected tears welled up, blurring his
vision, and a single tear trickled down his right cheek. He trapped the salty
moisture with his tongue.

Now Jim was speaking in a
this-is-the-sensible-way-forward-for-mature-adults manner. David caught phrases
like ‘I’m sure we can do this amicably’, ‘we hope a divorce can go through as smoothly
as possible’, and worst of all ‘we must remain friends after a healing period’.

It was Jane’s turn to add some unemotional sound bites. ‘It’s
not as if we have shared interests any more’ and ‘all the children do is hear
us argue’.

He didn’t think they argued much at all. Admittedly they
didn’t chat or laugh as they used to, but there was no conflict, not in his
opinion anyway. The reference to the children took him out of his numb state. How
on earth were they going to cope with this? Was Jane intending to take them
with her, to live with the person they knew as Uncle Jim, or were they to
remain with him? Did lawyers settle that?

“What about the kids?” he blurted out.

Lawyers would not be needed in this case since Jane had
already made the decision. “I think the children should stay here, after all
this is their family home. I’ve written a letter for you to give them and I’ll be
back tomorrow morning to chat once they know what’s what.”

Now there was anger to mix with his self-pity. “So is it my
job to tell them? Rachel, Sam. Come here a minute. Just to let you know mum has
left, she’s gone to live with Jim. All right with that?”

“There’s no need for sarcasm, David. I can’t face them
today, it’s too difficult for me,” Jane said with an
actually-I-feel-tough-enough-to-face-anything voice.

“Surely you understand how poor Jane feels, David,” Jim
added. “Show some compassion for god’s sake.”

Jane took over. “I think we should go now, but as I said,
I’ll see them tomorrow.”

She turned to leave. Jim remained facing him. “You take
care of yourself now, David.” He extended his arm for a handshake which sent
David into such a state of shock that he sat down, his mouth agape.

And with that Jim turned and followed Jane out through
the kitchen towards the front door.

David was still in shock, sitting on the white plastic
chair with the mildew-covered orange and brown striped cushion, when Sam came
home. He couldn’t have missed Jane by more than a couple of minutes. With great
excitement Sam began to recount how he’d been testing out his friend Adrian’s
new radio controlled car in the local park. While David fretted about what to
say, Sam talked about the speed of the Lamborghini model, how it was something
he’d love to own so that he could race against his friend.

“It’s only £69.99 at Argos, dad.”

This pause for his dad to consider the proposition was
the opportunity David needed.

“Sam, listen son, something terrible has happened. It’s
your mother.”

“She’s not had an accident has she?” asked Sam with an
expression suggesting surprisingly little concern.

“No, not an accident,” replied David, for an instant
wishing she had.

“Good, that’s alright then. Dad, what about an advance
Christmas present? If I had to wait until then I wouldn’t be able to use it for
ages what with the mud and snow and stuff. But it would be brilliant for now. What
do you reckon?”

“Maybe, but listen. Your mother.”

“Yes?” Sam enquired impatiently.

“She’s leaving us. Well me to be more precise, although I
suppose also you because she doesn’t intend to live here. She’s going to live
with Jim.”

“Uncle Jim?”

“Yes, Uncle Jim.” As he spoke there was a sudden gust of
wind and a medley of early falling leaves swirled down from the cherry tree.

“They’re just friends, dad. Mum’s always going on about
how helpless he is since his wife died. She goes round loads to check he’s OK,
but they’re only visits.”

“I’m afraid not, Sam.”

“Dad, you must have misheard.”

There was a pause as David weighed up the value of
convincing Sam that he was indeed right.

“Who’s going to cook dinner then?” said a boy who’s calm
practical outlook on life had always been in such sharp contrast to his
sister’s frequent emotional outbursts.

“What?”

“If mum leaves, who’s going to cook dinner?”

“Well tonight’s my turn, it’s Saturday,” David mumbled,
disturbed by the way the conversation was progressing.

“But what about other days?”

“Sam, I haven’t given it a lot of thought. Me again, I
suppose.”

“Oh. It’s just that mum’s a better cook than you. It’s OK
to say that isn’t it, dad?”

“Yes, it’s fine to say that,” said David reassuringly, wondering
whether this was Sam’s way of dealing with the traumatic news.

“What are we eating tonight?” Sam persevered.

“We’ve got lamb.”

“I must admit I do like the taste, but when you see the
lambs jumping about outside in the fresh air it does make you think.”

“We live in the middle of London. When did you last see a
frolicking lamb?”

“Last week. Not live, on TV.” Sam returned to the big
issue. “I’m sure everything will turn out OK, about mum I mean. She’ll stay
with us, just you see.”

David was not so sure, it had seemed pretty final to him.

“Dad, will you have a good think about the car?”

“Yes, I will,” David replied. Although he was pleased the
news hadn’t made Sam distraught, there was a degree of despondency that his son
was indifferent to his feelings. Perhaps it was too much to expect a thirteen
year old boy to have overt sympathy for an adult.

“See you later,” Sam said as he turned and headed
indoors. His once white trainers were caked in mud though the luminous green
Nike tick was as prominent as ever. He was wearing faded jeans and a black
tee-shirt with an appropriate upper body skeleton cartoon over his painfully
thin frame. A good boy, David reflected.

“Take your trainers off before you go upstairs,” he
called after Sam.

David went into the kitchen, opened the wine and poured
himself a generous glass. He rarely drank before dinner but this was an
exceptional day. During his conversation with Sam his distress, mixed with
anger, had waned. Sitting down at the kitchen table the shock resurfaced, but
there was little time to think things through.

“Hello, I’m back.” It was Rachel.

“In the kitchen,” David called out.

There was the sound of the light brisk walk that he loved.

“Hello Dad.” Rachel kissed him on the cheek and he could
smell the stale tobacco on her clothes. He’d confronted her about the danger of
smoking several times over the past few months, but to no avail. Jane hadn’t
helped. ‘She’s sixteen David, she needs to experiment. You can’t expect her to
listen to an old fart like you’ she had said. David hadn’t taken the old fart
descriptor as a fact, but it was probably what she believed.

“You OK, dad? Lost in thought?”

“It’s your mother.” Rachel stepped back with a look of
concern. At least this was a better start than the conversation with Sam. “She
visited this afternoon.”

She gave him an impatient teenager look implying a
questioning of sanity. “Dad, what do you mean ‘visited’?” She has such an
expressive face, David reflected as she continued. “She lives here.”

“Jim was with her.”

“I love Uncle Jim. It’s like we’re friends, he’s so easy
to talk to.”

That statement made David contemplate the danger of
continuing. Maybe she would be pleased her mother was moving on from an old
fart to such a nice man. But there was no option other than to persevere. “She,
well actually they…look, straight to the point because you’re old enough to
understand,” he blurted out. “They’re having a relationship and now mum is
leaving me and going to live with him.”

Rachel was stunned into silence, an unusual event. Her
face reddened with anger.

David pressed on. “They came round this afternoon
together, hand in hand, and told me.”

“God, I’m an idiot. That explains things.”

“What do you mean, Rachel?”

“Lately whenever you call to tell us you’ll be late home
from work she’s off as quick as a flash to see him. Says he needs support since
his wife died. I bet she gives him support all right.”

“Obviously things were going on that I had no idea about.
Maybe there’ll be an explanation when she’s back tomorrow morning to talk to
both of you.”

“Great. She’s pissing off and didn’t even have the guts
to tell us herself. She’s left you to do her dirty work.”

Rachel went to the fridge, took out the orange juice and
drank straight from the carton.

“I’m sure it’s not easy for her. Anyway, she’s written
you a letter,” David said as he handed her the envelope Jane had left on the
table.

“Not easy! How can you defend her, are you mad? What
about us?” She was right, it was a daft thing to have said and David was all
set to agree.

“Fucking bitch!” Rachel continued as she ripped the
unopened letter and let the resulting little squares drop to the floor. “Well I
won’t be seeing her.” She was holding back tears. “I’m going round to
Hannah’s.”

She turned and strode out the kitchen then turned back. “Are
you OK, dad?”

“Yes, don’t worry about me. You go.”

A few seconds later there was a slam of the front door.

David finished his first glass of wine and poured a second.
He switched on the oven and began to prepare the lamb, potatoes and carrots for
the dinner for either two or three, depending on when Rachel decided to return.

“Eating time,” she announced with a piercing screech. The
woman was insecurely balanced on a chair, dressed in adult school uniform –
short skirt, fishnet stockings, tight white shirt and a kipper tie. Like
everyone else at the reunion she was in her mid-forties and she looked
ridiculous.

She appeared unable to speak like a normal grown up. “It’s
bad bad news, you’ll need to leave the bar. Sorreee. I know that’s gonna be
hard, but it is yummy yum yum buffet food. Just take the first door on the
right.” Like an air hostess demonstrating emergency procedures she waved her
arm in the appropriate direction, the clumsy motion sending her tumbling into
the arms of the man standing by her side. They both ended up sprawled across
the floor but the brave man had at least cushioned her fall, preventing injury
to anything beyond pride.