The Younger Man (12 page)

F
ran is surprising me. She’s on the phone at one in the morning. She’s pregnant with another man’s baby one month before she’s due to be married to Daniel. The man she’s cherished for nearly ten years. She’s waited for this moment and she’s got pregnant by another man. It’s not the sort of discussion you should have over the phone with a best friend. We’re with Doreen tomorrow and, well, that’s enough stress for all of us for the next ten years, not just the next twelve months.

My mind is full of so many questions. Whose is it, what’s she going to do about it, how did she find time, does she love him, does Daniel know, does she love Daniel, is she going through with the wedding, does anyone else know, is she going to have the baby, how does she feel, does she want a hug, does she know of a clinic? I
know Fran has thought of all those questions and probably the answers as well and she will tell me in her own time. She does.

‘Hazel, I met Paul six months ago at work. There was a physical attraction, but I obviously didn’t pursue it because, well, I’m getting married and he knew it. But we had lunch and tea and coffee after work, that sort of thing, and we made each other laugh. It was fun, and a bit like Daniel and I were at the beginning of our relationship. But it’s not like that anymore. We’ve grown apart. And the irony is, we’re getting married
and
we’ve grown apart.’

I say nothing. I just listen. She expects me to speak, but when I don’t, she continues.

‘I had sex with him a few months ago, just before you went in for the Brazilian but I didn’t want to tell you then. I wanted to, but couldn’t. I just felt it was last-minute nerves and if anything happened it would be like the last fling. And I’m sensible. Everyone says I’m sensible and I don’t do this sort of thing. You know, behave irresponsibly. But do you know, I wanted to. I’m almost forty and I wanted to do something mad and bad and, well, dangerous, and be wild and adventurous, which I’ve never been in my life. Never been allowed to be and this was it. So I went away with Paul. For a weekend to Le Manoir, Raymond Blanc’s place. We had the Provence Room, very romantic and lots of eating in the room, and off each other, and I was terrified we would be found out but it made the moments even more intense and exciting. Paul’s
lovely and I think it’s just lust, not love, but we do have a chemistry. And he’s just divorced himself and likes me, but it may have been a rebound thing, so I’m not sure, but it’s been good so far. You know, what you feel for Joe, I feel for Paul. That buzz. And I don’t feel that for Daniel anymore, but I know that doesn’t last. Does it?’

She doesn’t wait for me to answer. I think it’s rhetorical anyway.

‘Paul knows it was only a passing thing, but we’ve become involved and he doesn’t think I’m being honest with myself and I don’t either, but I’ve got to go through with it. But I can’t have an abortion yet, I’ve got to wait until it’s twelve weeks. And, well, I’m on honeymoon then. Honeymoon. So do I just have the baby and pretend it’s Daniel’s, because I don’t want to abort, or do I come clean with him and admit to the affair and the baby and go our separate ways? I can’t talk to my parents or his parents. And I’m not ready for marriage to Daniel. I don’t feel ready for marriage. I may be forty, but I’m not ready. Some women are in their twenties, but I don’t think I will ever be. And Daniel is wonderful if a bit conventional and I’m not the woman he first met and I’d make him very unhappy.’

Slight pause for breath.

‘So what do you think I should do?’

There are some women you expect in life to behave irrationally. There are others you think will never, ever behave in any way that is irresponsible. Fran is one of them. She is as black and white as they come. She is the
I dotter and T crosser to end all anal but loveable people. I’m gobsmacked and anxious for her at the same time. She hasn’t been able to share and talk to anyone about this and it would have helped perhaps if she could have done. If she could have spoken to us at Le Pont, or when we went to EuroDisney, or me, at the health club. I’m her best friend and she couldn’t talk to me. But then again, neither could Doreen tell us about the lump. What is it with my friends? I think we can share everything and find out they all have secrets they keep to themselves until it is too late. Until they realise they can’t handle it alone and they need help. They need help.

‘And I wanted to tell you at your birthday, I felt I could and then Doreen told you about her lump and it wasn’t appropriate. And I wanted to tell you about the baby at EuroDisney but then Valerie had her baby and then there was Le Pont but Carron was sobbing and it wasn’t right. The timing wasn’t right. My timing isn’t right.’

At least I feel I’m not the only one who gets her timing wrong sometimes.

‘Are you still there?’

I haven’t said anything and Fran is asking me if I’m still there.

‘Yes. I’m still here. Fran, how can I help?’

‘How can you help? I’ve balanced what I should do. I’ve balanced what I should do, do my duty, and I’ve balanced what I should do, for Fran, for me.’

‘And what should you do for you? What do you want to do?’

‘For the day, for the moment, I should go through with the wedding, because that is what everyone expects and I will go down that aisle and be a good wife to Daniel and love him and be faithful to him and have a quickie abortion when I return from honeymoon. That is what I will do. I will not see Paul again. He doesn’t know about the baby and that’s for the best. That is what I should do.’

Fran does not say this with conviction.

‘You are not saying this with conviction, Fran. I’m not convinced this is what you want to do.’

‘What I want to do. What mad Fran wants to do, is to have the baby, cancel the wedding and run off with Paul and take a risk. I want to go for it and have the baby and do it with grace. But Daniel wouldn’t understand and my family would disown me and if I felt I made a mistake I could never go back on this. And Daniel would never forgive me and I would lose a friend and he wouldn’t understand, would he? He wouldn’t understand. And then it would be nasty and he would get nasty. And I know you’ve always thought he’s wet and a bit of a drip, but he’s got a dark side and he’d get nasty.’

I listen to Fran.

‘Do you want to marry a man with a dark side who would get nasty? If he loves you, he will be upset but he will let you go. It’s a lot to ask of a man to forgive you, but it’s more to ask of him to marry you and then tell him later on, perhaps even on your honeymoon when you’ve had too much to drink and are overridden with
guilt, that you have someone else’s baby and you’re not sure you’ve done the right thing and you may do that.’

‘Never.’

‘Why not? I did something similar. Women all over the world, Fran, walk down that aisle and are totally unsure they are doing the right thing. I get hundreds of clients say the same thing—both men and women.’

‘It’s just something to cover their own back because they feel a failure. That their life has been a failure.’

‘I agree. But they went through with it. They did what they thought was the right thing and they lived to regret it. Not all of it perhaps, not having the children bit, but they lived to regret the other bit. And when you walk down that aisle, Fran, you should be a hundred percent sure you are doing the right thing.’

‘Can anyone be a hundred percent sure of anything?’

‘When you get married, yes. When you get married.’

I can sense Fran is silently crying.

‘Do you want the baby?’

‘I would like the baby, it may be the last opportunity I have to have a baby. I know what trouble and pain Valerie went through to have Nelly. I would like this baby. Paul is a good man. I have money. I could bring it up myself.’

‘Bringing up a baby by yourself is not easy, even when you have money.’

‘I know, but I want this baby and I can’t ask Daniel to support me and I can’t lie to Daniel about the baby being his.’

‘Hate to ask, but don’t you use contraception?’

‘I do, but, well, it didn’t work. Condom broke.’

‘Right, so it was heat of the moment passion.’

‘Quite.’

‘Worth it?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll see, won’t we.’

‘So you don’t want an abortion. You don’t want to marry Daniel and you don’t necessarily want to be with the father.’

‘Correct.’

‘Then you’ve made your decision.’

‘But is it the right one?’

‘It’s the right one for you, Fran. I will support you in anything you do. As will your friends. Just wish you’d told me before.’

‘I know, but we’ve all got a lot on our plates.’

‘I know, but we’re friends and if you can’t talk to friends who can you talk to?’

‘I couldn’t tell my parents.’

‘I know.’

‘I couldn’t tell Daniel.’

‘I know. Thank you for telling me.’

Silence again. Then Fran says, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the hospital with Doreen. Don’t mention anything to her.’

‘I won’t if you don’t want me to, but I think she’d like her mind taken off her own problems and think this will distract her. Certainly distracted me.’

‘Distracted you from what?’

‘Oh, how Joe’s parents were lovely. Made me feel part
of the family and I felt, well, very loved up and safe and, well, happy.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Because I don’t like feeling too happy. I always think nature has a way of balancing things out and something bad is round the corner.’

‘Like this.’

‘No, this is not bad. Perhaps the timing was good, Fran, and it’s a sign telling you not to marry. That your life is beginning like Valerie’s is, with a new baby and that’s what it’s all about. Sometimes things don’t go to plan and that’s what makes life fun and exciting and dangerous and unexpected and we’re old and strong enough now to deal with the curve balls that we couldn’t when we were in our twenties.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so.’

‘Will you be there when I have the baby?’

‘Of course. I will also be there if you need some support to tell Daniel and cancel arrangements. I won’t ask how he will react.’

‘Badly, but that’s to be expected.’

‘How about Paul?’

‘He has three children already but I don’t know.’

‘Why couldn’t you wait to have Daniel’s?’

‘I don’t want Daniel’s, Hazel. How can I want Daniel’s if I’ve done something like this to him?’

‘What have you done to him? You’re not married to him.’

‘I’ve been unfaithful.’

‘You’ve been unfaithful because you were unhappy. Because you are unhappy. Was this an aberration?’

‘Well, no.’

‘Well, then, you’ve saved him and saved yourself. And as your maid of honour I’m telling you to not go down that aisle.’

‘But all the guests, what do I tell them?’

‘I will help you tell them. That you’ve called it off. Not postponed it. Called it off. Then you’re not clock-watching for the next round. And be straight, or as straight as you can be with Daniel. Say you’re unhappy and can’t marry him and say you’re sorry but that’s how you feel and see what he says. Listen to what he says.’

‘I will. Love you, Hazel.’

‘Love you, too.’

I put the phone down. My hands are shaking. They’re shaking because this is such a weird conversation and a weird day and I wish, how I wish someone had had that conversation with me before I married David, but then I wouldn’t have had Sarah. So perhaps everything happens for a reason. And that’s all I can think about Fran. That this has happened for a reason.

R
ip.

Sunday morning at GoForIt and Angie’s going for it on the under arms and half leg today. As well as the arrow, which I’ve grown quite fond of over the past few months. I’m updating her on my life.

‘Has he seen it yet?’ she asks.

‘Has who seen what yet?’

‘Has your new man seen the arrow?’

‘No, Angie. No. We haven’t had sex, though I think I’m falling in love with someone I haven’t made love to. It’s been some time since Joe parted with his girlfriend, but we still haven’t made love. I know it’s weird.’

‘I don’t think it’s weird. Perhaps a little unconventional, but think it’s rather charming actually. Now legs apart.’

I do as Angie says.

‘I’ve never done it this way before. It’s always been sex as starters, main course and dessert, but at the age of forty, I’m now finding the excitement in the anticipation. The anticipation of getting naked, of liking and falling in love with someone before making love. My time with Joe—at work and out of it—is one long foreplay. It’s been a strangely nonsexual foreplay. Which is unusual for me, because I’m a sexual being.’

‘Some women aren’t into sex, Hazel. But I know from what you tell me, you like it.’

‘I do, but I think stuff’s that’s been happening to my friends (I think of Fran’s bump and Doreen’s lump) has made me more aware of what’s important to me, has made me become aware of my own body—and things—like sex—have just been pushed aside.’

‘Hasn’t there been the opportunity then? I suppose you’re so busy with work stuff?’

‘Oh, there’s been opportunity. You can make time, can’t you, if you really want to. Yes, we’ve had lunches and drinks and laughs and held hands, but work and time hasn’t allowed sex. Okay, we could have booked into a hotel at lunchtime and had sex or he could have easily slept with me one evening, but to be honest, I haven’t allowed it. I want to get to know him first. Doesn’t that sound naff?’

‘Not at all,’ says Angie, tweezing my left armpit for strays.

‘But that’s how I feel and I’m going with my head, as well as my heart, on this one.’

‘Has he pushed for sex?’

‘No, he hasn’t pushed for sex. He knows I’ve been preoccupied with my friends. Because my time with them is precious. I’m worried about two friends in particular, who are both going through horrendous times…’

I think, I usually tell Angie everything but what’s happening to Doreen and Fran is too raw to talk about, even to her. Doreen’s operation wasn’t completely successful, as in, wasn’t successful. So she’s having to go in again and have her breasts removed. She laughs when she talks about it to me over the phone in the early hours, saying she never thought she’d have a boob job, but she’s ended up having two. Then Fran. Who told Daniel she wanted to call off the wedding and he got vicious when he found out about the baby. So I’ve been on the phone at night a lot listening to two of my closest friends sobbing their hearts out and laughing as well. Joe knows I have given them more time than him because they need it. I’ve given Sarah more time than him because she’ll be off soon and this time with her is so very special. Those last few months. Everything has become so intense recently. It’s as though each second of life, of happiness, is a tangible gift that I’ve got to appreciate and soak in, because it just won’t be there forever. He hasn’t been selfish and forced himself on me. He’s stood back and been gently supportive. And he’s probably still mourning for his girlfriend. So he’s giving me and giving himself space. Angie appears oblivious that I’m deep in thought.

‘No worries, darling. How’s it been at work with this guy?’

‘We’ve been very professional at work, but occasionally Joe comes into the office, under the pretext of discussing some case or another, sits me on my desk, his arms around me, and I feel wonderful. Not controlled by him. Or controlling him. Just enjoying the moment with him. Not competing for power or being threatened by him. I love the way he keeps his eyes open when he kisses me. I love the way he strokes my back when he’s kissing me. I love the way he holds me not too tight and not too lightly. I love the way he’s taller than me. And broader than me. And secure in himself. I love so many things about him. But can I love him?’

I sit up as Angie puts the finishing touches to my right half leg.

‘
How can you love him?
Just love him. Okay, you’re a divorce lawyer. He’s a divorce lawyer. Both of you know the path of true love runs straight into the divorce courts. Both of you know love is not eternal. You realise the happy-ever-after-get-married-and-have-kids is a false ending. Or a false start. And yet, here you are, with all the stuff in your life happening to you and your friends, and you talk about him with a gentleness I’ve never heard you use before. Do you know what, Hazel, this man sounds like a man, not a boy. He sounds like a man. He sounds kind. And funny. And thoughtful. And you’ve never gone for that kind. You’ve gone for arrogant, believing it was confidence, selfishness believing it was strength and nar
row mindedness believing it was determination. You’ve usually gone for good looks believing that is what makes good sex. They don’t. Some of my best lovers have been pug ugly.’

‘Well, I’m lucky there, as he’s quite handsome, but thank you for that, Angie. Thank you.’

I get off the couch and hug Angie who is grinning at me. As I walk out the door I turn and thank her again.

‘And tell me what he thinks of the arrow, will you? I always like testimonials.’

Next morning in the office, Joe and I are sitting on the desk, kissing. Not like school children. Like adults, knowing what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. He stops kissing me.

‘This is a very grown-up relationship,’ he says stroking my cheek.

‘Is that a question or a statement?’

‘A statement.’

‘Just because you’re wearing a suit doesn’t mean you’re a grown-up, Joe.’

‘Very funny. You know what I mean.’

‘’And just because you’re going out with someone who is ten years your senior doesn’t make it a grown-up relationship. Any way, what is a grown-up relationship?’

‘One with no illusions. One with no fairy tale. One based on experience and knowledge and understanding and the reality of what it takes to make a relationship work and how it can go wrong. One where the emotion
manages to survive, to seep through, and not blind us, but allow us to see more clearly.’

‘You’re a poet and you don’t know it,’ I say, rubbing noses.

‘I am indeed. Poetry in motion.’

He lifts me off the table and gently waltzes me round the room, humming something classical. Don’t know what. The sunlight is streaming into my slightly untidy office, with its white walls and table and black chairs and obligatory box of tissues and coffeepot and cups. And all I can think is ‘this is very gentle and very romantic.’

Joe may be able to read my mind as he says, ‘What’s your idea of romance?’

‘My idea of romance is the unexpected. Originality and simplicity. Cornwall, The Minack Theatre. Crashing waves against a craggy cliff. Tuscan hills in the autumn. Romance is walking along a beach in the winter. Romance is being the only couple on a ride in an amusement park and wanting to go on it again and again and again. Romance is in a restaurant where you can’t afford the food but you can the ambience. And you order bread and wine and olives and nothing else. And don’t speak for the duration not because you have nothing to say, but that you can’t take your eyes off the other person. And you occasionally touch and stroke their hair. Nauseating to watch—I remember watching a couple do it in France over lunch one time—but I knew where they were at. I knew how they felt. Deep down I’m a realistic romantic. That used to make me vulnerable, but it doesn’t any more. It makes me stronger.’

‘It makes you who you are.’

‘I know. My head is in the clouds and my feet are firmly on the ground. It means I get severely stretched as a person.’

‘You’re quite magical and lovely, Hazel. Do you know that?’

‘Brian tells me that every morning when I come through the door. He says “You’re magical and lovely, Hazel”.’

Joe smiles and kisses me again while we’re waltzing and it’s lovely. And dancing for a minute at eleven o’clock on a grey Monday morning in an office in central London is now somewhere up there with the crashing waves in Cornwall, Tuscan hills and winter beaches.

Then same day, late in the evening, just out of the shower, hair dripping, about eleven o’clock, I get a text message. It’s from Joe.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

Ever had text sex?

First thought, he’s been drinking. Second thought, perhaps it’s not him so I should check the number. No, the number’s his. Third thought, perhaps he feels we’ve waited long enough and he’s as frustrated as I am. After all, it’s been a month now, but is that long enough? Is there no mourning period with these men? Slash and burn is obviously de rigeur, but do I want to be a part of it? I keep the answer open.

MESSAGE SENT

You are drunk. Obviously. Go away.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

I’m not. Ever had text sex?

I think this is in bad taste. So say so.

MESSAGE SENT

This is in bad taste. You’ve just separated from Fiona. Is there no mourning period?

MESSAGE RECEIVED

I’m just asking a simple question. Have you ever had text sex?

I’m weighing up whether I should play this game or not. I think it is a game and not a healthy one, but you never know.

MESSAGE SENT

No, had phone sex though. You need a voice to turn you on. You need to hear the voice. Texting is impersonal. Plus you can get the words wrong.

I know, I tried this with Dominic last year and instead of putting base of spine I kept writing case of prime all over the place. Poor guy thought it was some Victorian
term for a part of my body that he had yet to find. He spent hours trying to tease my prime and find that bloody case.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

No you don’t need a voice. You’ve got a sexy voice, Hazel, but I don’t need to hear you. First, you ask the woman what she’s wearing. Then you ask why she is wearing it. So where are you and what are you wearing?

Where am I and what am I wearing. Right. I’m in the kitchen, just out of the shower, dripping wet with little on. I write…

MESSAGE SENT

I’m in the bedroom. Wearing pink Victoria’s Secret, my skin smells of strawberries and not much else. What are you wearing?

I feel like one of those 0800 numbers found in public phone boxes on the Tottenham Court road. The ones with pictures of Jordan look-a-likes. In reality, the women are married, going on fifty, moustached and chain smokers. I know, I represented one of them once and they make a nice little living out of it. Learnt a lot about phone sex from her I did.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

Me all in rubber—is that the sort of thing…

He’s obviously in his city suit, too.

MESSAGE SENT

Rubber no good, too difficult to tear off with teeth (let’s tease him). I’m wet.

Eek, why did I send that. Bit heavy. He won’t answer. I know he won’t answer but

BROOOOOMMMMM. The car comes in immediately.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

How wet?

I suddenly don’t want to be in the kitchen anymore. I walk upstairs. Well, I run upstairs actually, holding my phone as though it’s some sort of lifeline, which at this moment, it sort of is. I make sure Sarah’s asleep. Peep in. Yep, she’s asleep I think. I go into my bedroom and close the door, put the dimmer lights on mild, so there’s a soft half light, filling the room with shadows. I undress, putting the phone down and waiting for the sound of an approaching Formula One car any time. Go to drawer. Find lacy knickers I said I had on. Put them on (this is soo weird). Lie back on bed and think of Joe. In five minutes his image of me is exact. I’m no longer in the kitchen wearing bathrobe (nicked from la Posta Hotel in La Marquee Italy on an exquisite week with Dominic) with wet
hair. I’m in the bedroom, with the knickers, thinking of him and sex and sex with him.

MESSAGE SENT

Glistening. Ask me where my hands are?

I’m stroking myself very slowly around my nipples, and down toward my belly button. I admit, I can’t foreplay with myself for more than two minutes alas. If I was a man I’d be one of those men women would complain about all the time. You know, ‘he just goes for the kill’ sort of guys. So my fingers are already reaching into my knickers and stroking, and I’m very wet by the time I receive the next text message.

BROOOOOOM.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

And now very curious, where are her hands?

He’s gone into third person. It’s somehow safer, as though we’re talking about another couple, but know it’s us we’re talking about. I’m intrigued.

MESSAGE SENT

They are reaching down into her panties. She’s gently stroking herself. Where is he?

I hope he writes quick. The fact I have to wait for the sound of a Formula One engine though, makes it more
exciting. It’s as though I’m playing some sort of sexual Scrabble. If he doesn’t get the words right, then it doesn’t work, if it does, I go to the next stage. Hopefully, in this game, we both win.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

He is in the bedroom. He is looking at her. He wants to touch her. He can tell she’s wet.

MESSAGE SENT

She is.

MESSAGE RECEIVED

Well if she’s that wet she may need something dry and hard but not straightaway—perhaps some gentle rubbing first to help with the glistening.

Rubbing, ouch. Perhaps he’s not as good with words as I thought.

MESSAGE SENT

Ouch! No way, she’s made of flesh and blood not brass, he can sit and watch and ache and be teased while she teases herself just out of his reach. And he can watch as she strokes.