Working Wonders (6 page)

‘Arthur, we have to talk.’

He grunted into his newspaper. Yes, he knew they did. He looked up at her. His eyes were hollow.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Well …’ Arthur did a quick summary in his head.

Hmm not that bit … No, maybe not that …

‘I got promoted.’

Fay’s face lit up. ‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, really.’

‘But this is brilliant!’ Her eyes shone. ‘I mean … we’ll have enough money to – hang on.’

She ran to the fridge and came back with a bottle of champagne they’d been keeping for good news.

‘This is so fantastic!’ She kissed him on the top of his head. ‘You’re so clever, darling! And think what we can do now …’ She straightened up for a second and smiled at him. ‘And the black eye is, what – the official entry token to the executive washroom?’

‘I had to fire Ross,’ said Arthur matter-of-factly, uncorking the bottle.

‘Oh! God, well, that’s even
more
brilliant. Isn’t he the one you thought was a bit of a tosspot?’

Arthur nodded. ‘With a good tossy right hook.’

‘Ooh!’ She sat by his knees, hugging her own, and lifted up her glass to be filled. This was it. This was the moment. No wonder he’d been so quiet, if he’d been working up to such a wonderful surprise!

‘So, there’ll be a bit more money coming in, won’t there?’

‘Um, we didn’t discuss it … Probably.’

Oh God, thought Arthur. He suddenly had an inkling as to where this was heading. Thank God his eye was already black. Although of course she could still scratch it out.

‘So, you know, maybe we could …’ She twirled her manicured finger around the top of her glass. Looking at it, Arthur realized for the first time that he didn’t really like manicures. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to sound like he was encouraging her. The pause grew longer. She looked up at him, firstly with hope, then, as the silence continued, almost as he watched, the light in her eyes slowly dimmed.

She stared at the seagrass carpet for an even longer time. It was killing Arthur to keep quiet, but he didn’t know what else to do. He felt a lump in his throat. The wait grew interminable. Finally, and very slowly, she raised her head back up to look at him. Her eyes were full of tears, quivering, hovering and waiting to fall.

‘Are we …’ She was attempting to sound dignified, but there was an immediate wobble to her voice. ‘Are we – are
you
…’ She shook her head to get a grip, and managed to steady herself. ‘Do you really want to be with me, Arthur? Properly? To settle down and have a – a family and everything?’ Immediately her eyes flicked away. A ten-ton weight settled on Arthur’s ribcage. He had to say something soon. He had to.

He couldn’t think of anything. He was failing.

‘Aren’t you even going to
talk
to me?’ The tears were falling now.

‘Aren’t you going to even deign to … Am I really worth that little to you?’

Fay’s voice was angry now, and hard.

‘Look at me, Arthur.’

Slowly, Arthur lifted his head. Her face was white, and her hands were gripping the wine glass so hard it was frightening. Neither of them spoke. Arthur loathed himself, and his cowardice.

‘Are you – are you talking about having a baby?’ Arthur managed to force out, quietly.

‘No!’ said Fay, indignant. ‘Can’t I ask a perfectly reasonable question about where our relationship’s headed without it turning into a big fuss about …
babies
.’

‘Oh. Only, I thought you were talking about babies.’

‘Yes, of
course
I’m talking about babies.’

She attempted to laugh and half choked, loudly in the quiet room. Arthur reached out his hand to her but she shook it off.

‘Fay, – I’m not sure I’m ready.’

Her face creased with disappointment, then she took a breath. ‘How … How … When would you be ready? We have three bedrooms and two cars, for fuck’s sake!’

‘I know.’

‘We chose this place together!’

‘You chose it, Fay,’ he said, as gently as he could, realizing of course that this wasn’t fair.

‘I chose it because … because we’re going out and you’re thirty bloody two years old! And so am I, nearly! We’re not fifteen! You don’t fuck about with someone just to go out with them!’

‘I – I’m not fucking about with you.’

‘I’m thirty-one years old. If you don’t want to get married and have a family with me, you’re fucking about.’

Arthur felt disgruntled. ‘Who invented that rule? I thought we were having a perfectly nice time.’

‘Did you?’

He ignored the obvious truth in her statement.

‘I don’t see why, just because we’re seeing each other … I mean, I don’t owe you anything.’

As soon as he said this he realized how awful it was. She blinked twice rapidly and edged away from him. ‘You … you …’

‘Listen, Fay, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. It’s just … I’ve had a really tough day and you’ve just started in on this and …’

But she had already stood up and was backing away across the room.

‘Look, Fay.’

But she didn’t even look like Fay any more. She looked like some strange person he’d never met before in his life. Her eyes frightened him.

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she echoed.

‘Oh, come on, let’s talk about it.’

‘No, no need for that. You don’t owe me a thing.’

‘
Fa-ay
.’

Now she looked around, bewildered. She stopped herself. ‘Well,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Well, I guess I’ll be back to pick up my stuff … whenever …’ She cast an eye round the tasteful living room that they’d gone down to London to furnish – the brown leather sofa, the Habitat rug, the widescreen TV. Suddenly she had pulled herself together, and was eerily calm.

‘You owe me that sofa,’ she said. Arthur was standing now, casting his arms around, trying to say something, anything, but realizing as he did so that somewhere, underneath all of this, there was a definite feeling of relief – and that this was the biggest betrayal of all.

‘You … you betrayed me,’ she said, unnervingly voicing exactly what was going through his head. ‘Maybe not with another woman – but then, of course, I don’t know you at all, do I?’

‘There aren’t any other women,’ said Arthur dully, although he couldn’t help wondering – it was a flash, nothing more – about Gwyneth’s set up.

‘But you betrayed me, nonetheless. You saw me every day and you knew absolutely what I was in for, and absolutely what I was after and you spat on it and pissed it out the window the whole damn time. Did you laugh as the years went by, Arthur? Did you laugh every day because I still hadn’t cottoned on that nothing –
nothing
I did was any use? That there was nothing I could do? You stole that time from me, Arthur Pendleton. You stole it, and you know you did.’

‘I …’ Arthur exclaimed helplessly.

‘You absolute
wretch
. Well, fuck you! That’s my curse on you. Fuck you and everything that will ever happen to you.’

‘I wish people would stop saying that today.’

‘Fuck you,’ she said again, and it echoed around the room as she slammed the door. Arthur stood there for a second, until she marched back in, scooped up the television remote control, her bag, her dressing gown, then stood in front of him where he was frozen to the carpet and calmly blacked his other eye.

‘I think I’d maybe … I’d quite like to come in and see you.’

Lynne regarded the strange purple-eyed apparition peering round her doorway coolly. Arthur had driven in at five miles an hour.

‘
Can
you see?’

‘Ha ha. Is this a good time?’

‘Time …’ mused Lynne. ‘What a funny question. All times are exactly the same.’

She stared out of the window. Today she was wearing six layers of different colours of brown. They floated all over her chair. One layer looked like it might be made out of a piece of sacking.

‘Er, yes they are,’ averred Arthur. ‘Except you know, they’re not. When you’re doing something or, you know, waiting for black eyes to heal.’

‘Is that what those are? I thought you were turning into a panda. I saw that happen once …’

Arthur threw up his hands in defeat. ‘Fine, I’ll come back later.’

‘No, no, come in.’

Arthur mooched in and slouched onto the sofa. There was an expectant silence.

‘Well?’ said Lynne.

‘I don’t know … Can you give me some therapy or something?’

‘What, just like that?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Jolly good,’ said Lynne. ‘Right. You get confused between umbrellas and your penis.’

‘I do not!’

They both looked out of Lynne’s windows, where it was raining.

‘Just as well,’ said Arthur.

‘Quite,’ said Lynne. ‘Well, you get that kind of thing with off the peg therapy.’

Arthur sighed. Lynne peered over her spectacles.

‘Do you want to talk about it or do you want me to psychically guess that Ross took a swing at you and you’ve split up with your girlfriend?’

‘That’s creepy,’ said Arthur. ‘Well, what do you recommend, seeing as I’m supposed to be starting the most difficult job of my career this morning and I look like George Dubya eating a pretzel.’

‘Talk to your girlfriend,’ said Lynne. ‘That’s probably better than talking to me.’

‘What! That’s the most useless advice I’ve ever heard! You’re the worst therapist ever!’

‘What do you want me to say? Well done for betraying your girlfriend?’

‘I didn’t
betray
her. She bloody said that too. It’s not like I did anything.’

But his face gave him away.

‘Well, exactly. You should have done something. You should have split up with her years ago.’

‘Okay, well, thank you Germaine Greer but I happen to completely disagree. All she ever had to do was ask, then she did ask and I told her.’

Lynne shook her head. ‘You’re going to regret that.’

‘What? I thought I could say anything in here!’

‘Not what you said. What you did.’

‘Yes, I’m sure I will regret it, if I lose the sight in one eye.’

They were quiet. Arthur was seething. This was a hard time for him, goddammit. Didn’t he deserve a bit of sympathy?

‘You’ll be late,’ said Lynne.

The huge cubicle room was not just quiet, it was completely, utterly silent. It was hard to believe there was anyone in there at all. From the second Arthur stepped through the door, heads disappeared into files, up close against computer screens, probably even in some cases straight under the desks, using the ‘if he can’t see me he can’t fire me’ technique. Arthur went forward gingerly.

‘Hello!’ he said as usual to the grumpy temp at the front of the office. But instead of grinning and giving him some cheeky answer, she looked up, startled.

‘Er, hello Mr Pendleton.’

He squinted at her. ‘Um …’ Of course he still couldn’t remember her name. ‘You don’t have to call me Mr Pendleton.’

She looked at him. ‘What, do you want me to go back to calling you “Not Too Much of a Wanker”?’

From somewhere he could be sure he heard a very quiet giggle.

‘No, I stay away from my Native American name when I’m working,’ he said, heading past her.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just didn’t recognize you with your sunglasses on.’

‘I’m not wearing … oh, forget it.’

He was conscious of her eyes on him as he started to make his way through the maze. And everyone else’s, for that matter. As he was nearly at his desk, he realized with a cold shock of horror that of course this wouldn’t be his desk any more – he’d be expected to go to Ross’s old office. But he was already too far along in the opposite direction. Oh crap. He felt his face go puce and the back of his collar felt damp. He decided to try and pretend that he was just on his way to pick up a few things and actually said, ‘Huh, just going to pick up a few things,’ tentatively out loud as he was going along, feeling more and more that he should just carry a sign saying ‘Dickhead! Hate me forever!’

Of course, as usual, the smell hit him first. No. Of all the cruel tricks to play on him. Sandwiches was sitting lugubriously in
his
chair – or rather, what had been his chair – stinking the place out and looking up at him with a mildly quizzical air. He was wearing one of Arthur’s ties. Sven was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sven!’ Arthur yelled, breaking the silence in the room.

The fat blond head raised itself incrementally over the partition, like a
Wot
! cartoon. ‘Oh … Hi, Arthur!’ he said, with elaborate unconcern.

‘Sven, you know how we had that talk the other day about who was the boss?’

Sven nodded.

‘And I couldn’t ask you to remove your dog?’