You, Me and Him (12 page)

Eliot is pushed into the pool area, a team of professionals surrounding him. There’s a tall man wearing a pair of black swimming trunks and a white T-shirt. He must be the teacher. He has well-muscled arms, and a whistle on a piece of cord hangs around his neck. George waves at his friend and Eliot does the royal wave back before being pushed towards the much more luxurious heated pool.

Clarky turns to me again. ‘I should have told you how I felt.’

‘Well, it’s a bit too late for us to “chat” now,’ I say. ‘Twelve years too late to be precise.’

George swims over to us.

‘Let’s not talk about it again, OK? It’s unfair on Finn.’ Just mentioning it makes me feel guilty, as if I have betrayed him this very moment.

‘I won’t say another word.’

‘About what Daddog?’ George asks.

Clarky swims off in a fast front crawl. George looks at me. ‘Nothing sweetheart. Boring stuff.’

‘Oh. There’s Eliot!’

Different kinds of coloured floats are being attached to Eliot’s spindly body. The small pool is divided into two sections by a red and blue barrier. I introduce myself to the teacher, explaining that El and George are school friends. ‘Can my son watch for a minute?’ I ask.

But already George has jumped into the other pool. ‘It’s like having a bath, Mum!’ he shouts. ‘It’s hot.’

‘George, out! I’m sorry.’

‘Frédéric,’ the man introduces himself in heavily accented English. ‘And this is my assistant.’ He signals to a young woman wearing a navy costume. ‘Your son can join in, I am very happy if Eliot is?’ They lift him carefully onto a white plastic chair.

‘Are you all right, Eliot?’ Frédéric asks. ‘
Bien
. Are you ready to go?’

Eliot assumes his kingly position on the throne as he is propelled into the air and lifted over the water. The assistant turns a wheel and the chair is gradually lowered into the pool. George watches, fascinated. He jumps up and down in keen anticipation, waiting for Eliot’s toes to hit the water. Why can’t
he
sit on the chair? I know that’s what he’s thinking.

George is splashing El already. I pull a worried face.

‘That’s good,’ Frédéric is saying, holding Eliot carefully in the water, ‘splash your friend back.
C’est important
 … it is important being comfortable in the water. It is the first thing I teach children, not to have any fear.’

George certainly has no fear. I remember even as a toddler he used to jump straight into the pool trustingly. More importantly, he floated afterwards. ‘Come on, kick those arms, Eliot, get your friend really wet,’ Frédéric encourages. Eliot has little strength in his arms but he is trying so hard, his face getting redder and redder, almost matching the colour of his hair.

‘Come on!’ shouts George. ‘Harder!’

He has now dived under the barrier and is on his back, slicing his arms and legs through the water.

I notice Frédéric watching him. ‘He has good body position,’ he tells me.

‘He does?’ Is he talking about George?

‘Yes, he is naturally flat, buoyant in the water, with long straight legs. Could you take over with Eliot for a minute?’ he asks the assistant. ‘That’s right, Eliot, push those arms.’

Frédéric walks across to the other side of the pool. ‘George, could you come here?’ He’s not listening. ‘George,’ he repeats, ‘can you do this?’ He pushes his own feet away from the wall and glides across the pool on his back.

George sort of does it. He pushes off in a burst of energy then loses momentum. ‘You need to do it more slowly, it’s all about control,’ Frédéric tells him. ‘Once more, please.’

George does a handstand instead.

‘He finds it difficult to concentrate,’ I inform the coach. ‘He has ADHD and …’

But Frédéric stops me, uninterested. ‘I teach many like him before. For each child there is an obstacle. Many are scared even to put their face in the water. I had one child, Peter, it take weeks to make him trust it. He even hated having a bath. He felt, what is the word …’ He clicks his fingers.

‘Scared?’ I suggest.

‘No, claustrophobic. I told the mother to sprinkle water,’ he mimes it, ‘over his head during bathtime, which she did. I also ask her what her son’s favourite toy is. She say
Finding Nemo
, so I buy lots of little
Nemo
and make Peter dive to get. That was the answer.’ He looks over at George who is playing with El again. ‘If you look hard enough, there is always an answer.’

At the end of Eliot’s lesson Frédéric claps. ‘Well done, Eliot, and thank you, George. You come again and I teach you to swim like a professional? You are good.’ He pats George on the back. My son is being praised and you can see it in his smile.

*

He kisses me on the lips. I feel the warmth of a naked body next to mine. His hand feels hot against my skin.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Really sorry. Are you awake?’

I open my eyes as he brushes the hair away from my neck and kisses my skin, the touch of his lips soft. ‘Christo gave me a lecture right the way around the course, telling me what an arsehole I am.’

‘What’s the time?’

‘Midnight. Were you asleep?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you were awake.’

‘Right,’ I say doubtfully.

‘OK, I woke you up, but it’s to say something
very
important.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I’m really sorry for taking you for granted, and I do know how lucky I am to have you.’ I turn to face him in the dark. ‘I rehearsed that line all evening,’ he says with a smile, ‘but I mean it, every word.’

‘You
can
be an arsehole, and you’re
very
lucky to have me, but thank you for telling me.’

He traces the outline of my cheek. ‘I don’t know why you put up with me when you could have had anyone you wanted.’

‘The trouble is, I don’t want anyone else.’ I hold him close to me; his hands are inside my nightshirt, touching the curve of my stomach.

‘I’m going to try harder J …’

We start to kiss, the intensity of his touch taking me back to the first time we made love. Finn holds me tight, our legs locked together perfectly. I rest my head back, my hair falling over my shoulders, Finn’s hands firm around the base of my spine, fingertips digging into my skin. I feel light again, his touch letting me escape from reality into a dreamy blue existence where everything is OK. Finn and I are in love. We are happy.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I walked past the porters’ lodge, under the arch, adrenalin kicking in. I went to the bar. No sign of Finn. He had to be here. I hammered on the door and he opened it readily. ‘No need to shout,’ he said, walking across the sitting room and back into his bedroom.

‘No need to shout?’ I belted out even louder.

His room was a mess. Papers strewn across his desk, ashtrays full of cigarette stubs, curtains tightly shut, bed not made. ‘What has happened to you?’ He hadn’t shaved and looked as if he hadn’t changed clothes either for about a week. I started to pace the room and stopped when I saw the lipstick mark on his pillow. I felt sick. ‘Have you slept with someone else?’

‘Someone else?
We
haven’t even slept together yet,’ Finn pointed out. ‘Let’s not get into that boring relationship stuff anyway.’ His eyes were as hard as stone.

Bags and books were strewn on the floor, and a dark brown trunk. ‘What’s this?’

‘I’m busy packing. I’m leaving Cambridge, I’m not cut out for this shit.’ He indicated his desk with its small spidery lamp shining across a heap of papers. I sat down on his bed, hoping this was a bad dream.

‘You can’t leave.’

‘Christ, you’re naïve sometimes,’ he commented with a patronising laugh. ‘I guess it’s the age difference.’

It was the first time he had used that against me. ‘What – two years? Besides, it’s not me acting like a two year old right now, is it?’

He laughed cynically. ‘Cambridge isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Most people are only here to fill their address books anyway.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No, you’ve got great friends and your club.’ Still he said nothing. ‘So, you’re going to quit, just like that?’

He started to roll a cigarette. ‘Yep, just like that.’ I walked over to him and pushed the tobacco away. To my surprise he didn’t fight to get it back as I leant across the desk to open a window. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’ I chucked the ash and stubs into a bin along with some empty bottles.

He took a deep breath. ‘Well, my excuse for a mother has walked out on my father, again, and he’s a mess. I’m leaving Cambridge. That’s about the sum of it.’

‘I’m sorry … about your dad, your family.’

He frowned heavily. ‘Family? That’s a joke. I don’t have a family, more a loose relationship of people. Dad’s in hospital, drugged on anti-depressants. I can’t just stay here, my nose in a book. It’s not real. My father needs me.’

‘Right. So you think you’re helping your dad out by just giving up, drinking and smoking yourself into depression too?’

‘He needs me,’ Finn stated flatly again.

I knelt down in front of him. ‘But what do
you
need? You want to be a doctor. You can’t throw it all away. I can imagine what you’re going through …’

‘You’ve got no idea,’ he interrupted. ‘You have a cosy little family life.’

I couldn’t argue with that.

‘I’ve had enough of the work anyway. It’s years of training before I even make any money and I don’t have a trust fund I can dip into. I’m not good enough, I’d only disappoint myself.’

I stood up and moved away from him. ‘Will you listen to yourself? You think you’ve got it so tough. Poor Finn, the whole world’s against him. Here you are, in one of the best universities in the country, with so much ahead of you, and all you can do is feel sorry for yourself? I’m sorry about your parents splitting up but it happens to a lot of people. OK, not me, but don’t talk to me as if I know nothing about life. The only thing I’ve been naïve about was believing you were a nice guy. Leave, then! Smoke, take more drugs. Drink yourself into oblivion. Your father will applaud your decision.’

He was silent.

‘Why couldn’t you tell me about your dad before? And then you go and sleep with someone else! Nice touch.’

‘Well, what do you expect? I was tired of waiting for you.’

‘You are a shit. Clarky was right.’

‘Like the violin man’s objective!’

‘I’m leaving in a few days, I’ll probably never see you again, and you weren’t even going to come and say goodbye?’ I turned away from him. I needed to get out. ‘’Bye Finn.’ I walked out of his bedroom and out of the front door. ‘Have a nice life,’ I called out behind me. The tears were flooding down my face now. His chair scraped back and before I knew it he was out in the corridor, grabbing my arm. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, don’t go. Please.’

I wrenched my arm free.

A door opened. ‘Could you keep the noise down?’ Finn’s neighbour asked. He was so introverted he couldn’t look either of us in the eye. He was a ‘natsci’ which Finn told me was a student of natural sciences. ‘I’m trying to work.’ He shuffled back inside his room.

‘I’m sorry, so sorry,’ Finn repeated as if stuck on the words. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’ He held my face between his hands. ‘I need
you
.’

He led me back inside. Before I had time to say anything his face was pressed against mine and we crashed back against the door.

‘Ow, Finn!’

‘You are the last person I wanted to hurt.’ He took my hand and guided me back into his bedroom.

He was kissing me urgently now and I kissed him back. How could he have so much power over me? There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted him to stop. ‘I’ve wanted to do this since I first met you.’ He moved to my neck and then back to my face and our lips met in exactly the right place. It felt incredible. ‘Will you stay with me tonight?’

‘I’ll stay.’ He lifted me into his arms and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Any sense left me. This was my last chance to be with Finn, and whatever happened I wanted him to be the first person. ‘Haven’t … done … this … before.’

‘I know,’ he said gently.

He lowered me onto the bed and started to unbutton my top, quickly and efficiently. He undid my bra in one simple swift movement. I grappled to unbuckle his belt. His jeans and my top were added to the heap on the floor. ‘We can stop at any time. I don’t want to force you if …’ His breathing was jagged.

‘Shut up, Finn, I want to.’

He pinned my naked arms to the bed and kissed me again. We couldn’t stop; it was like a drug between us.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This morning I remembered to kiss the frog that sits in my studio. I have an important meeting.

It’s week sixteen of my pregnancy, the week I should officially be telling Ruby I’m pregnant. My initial twelve-week scan was fine. I’m starting to show a little, but because I am tall I can disguise it easily. During the scan I was told that if my baby were male, the female reproductive organs would have degenerated by now. I have to wait for the next scan to find out the sex. It’s only four weeks but that feels like a lifetime to me.

I’m staring at my computer. George is my screensaver. He’s sitting on Rowan, my mum’s Shetland pony, who is the worst-tempered thing ever, but George somehow manages to control him. He bites Finn and me. Finn calls him ‘the little shit’.

‘One moment, please,’ Natalie says. ‘Ruby – Martin Collins from Caviar Travel on the line.’

The boss shakes her head theatrically, bracelets jangling. Her perfume is overpowering today.

‘I’m afraid she’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?’

‘Now, Josie, team talk,’ Ruby says in a hushed tone, sitting poised behind her desk.

‘Right, yes,
shoot
.’ Another word popular with Ruby.

‘We need to nail this client. If they want us to do their company literature and design their new logo, that’s big money.’ Her eyes sparkle with greed. ‘I know it’s not the most dynamic job we could do,’ she says, hunching her shoulders and frowning, ‘but it’s serious bread and butter money.’ She smiles again and I’m sure she’s had her pearl-white teeth cosmetically whitened. ‘Do you think you’re up to heading the meeting this afternoon?’

‘Absolutely,’ I reply. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

She makes the sound that comes after a games show contestant has answered the question correctly. ‘That’s my girl! The competition will be steep but I’m sure they’ll go for your pitch if you play it right. Remember all my tips?’

‘Quick flexible responses …’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘… fresh thinking and innovation.’

‘Bingo.’

‘Thank you for giving me the responsibility.’ I feel like I should be saluting, ‘Rule Britannia’ playing in the background.

‘You’re more than ready, Josie. We need to get to a stage where we don’t have to pitch. It’s time-consuming and we are effectively giving away our best ideas for free. I want clients to come to
us
, Gem Communications. We are going to be the
Titanic
of the design world.’

I don’t want to point out that the
Titanic
sank.

‘But,’ she swivels round in her chair, winking at Natalie and me, ‘it’s just the way the industry works so for now we have to work with it. You’ll get there soon, Natalie, being in the exciting position of heading a meeting.’

‘I think I am ready,’ Natalie says, which annoys me. ‘I feel confident I could do it now.’

The phone rings again. I gather up my work to take to the meeting in a portfolio bag: sketches, presentation boards, colour run-outs and examples of previous work I’ve done for the company.

‘Gem Communications.’ Natalie looks puzzled. ‘Sorry, who’s calling? Miss Miles.’ My face freezes over like ice. ‘Oh, sorry, Ms Miles. One moment.’

Pain shoots down my arms and through my fingertips. I’m not here. But it’s too late. Ruby is watching me closely. The button on my telephone is flashing red like a warning sign. Perhaps George has had a terrible accident? I pick up the phone immediately. ‘Ms Miles, how can I help?’ I smile reassuringly at Ruby who is pretending not to be interested as she taps on her keyboard with scarlet fingernails.

‘You need to pick up George, now,’ his teacher informs me.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘He flushed one of the boys’ hoods down the toilet during playtime. I will not tolerate this behaviour.’

‘Could we talk about this calmly and rationally after school? I shall be picking him up at three-thirty.’

‘I don’t think you heard me, Mrs Greenwood. I have suspended George for the rest of the day, and from now on you will have to pick him up at lunchtime too. George’s behaviour is too disruptive, we do not have the staff to monitor him every second of the day. We have the other children in the school to consider, all two hundred of them.’

‘Very well, thank you. Goodbye.’ I try not to slam the phone down.

‘There isn’t a problem, is there?’ Ruby asks.

‘No, all fine.’

‘Set to razzle-dazzle them?’

‘All set.’ She examines my outfit. I’m wearing pale pink tweed trousers but the top button is undone and covered by a thick black belt. ‘Er, still carrying the excesses of Christmas,’ I titter.

‘I must say, you do look a little on the large side …’

‘Right, I’m off.’

‘But the meeting’s not for another hour,’ she says, her voice razor sharp with mistrust.

I laugh nervously. ‘The ladies’ room. Back in a weenie sec.’ Am I becoming a clone of Ruby?

*

I sit on the loo and punch in Clarky’s number. Why is Mrs B on holiday? I really need her. No answer from Clarky. WHERE IS HE?

I ring Gwen. ‘Darling, I would love to look after George …’

‘That’s wonderful!’

‘No! Sorry, sweetie, you know I’d love to but I simply don’t have the time. I’m having my hair coloured and then Dicky and I are thinking of going to see that new film with Jude Law …’

‘But can’t you see the film another time?’ I ask desperately.

‘No, it’s only on for another day or so. By the way, I never got round to sending you a thank you card for Christmas. Isn’t it awful the way time flies and …’

‘Then … whoosh! You haven’t had the time. ’Bye, Gwen,’ I finish for her. I pity Finn for having her as a mother.

I ring Tiana but she’s not answering her mobile. I leave a message before trying Granny. ‘I’m not having that little nipper in my home, not today. I’ve got the gasman here. Dreadful pong in the house.’

I try Clarky again. No answer. I hear a door open and high heels clicking across the floor. They walk into the cubicle next to mine. I bend down to see if they are Ruby’s heels. Pointy black ones with little bows on the end. Shit, they are. I sit rigid, trying to hold my breath, knees tightly pressed against one another, feet dangling off the floor. She’s pulling lots of loo roll out of its holder. I bet she’s placing it around the seat so her bare skin avoids touching it. Her bracelet jangles as she flushes the loo. She turns on the tap and scrubs her hands for what seems like ages. Then there’s a spraying noise. She can’t be spraying on yet more perfume? ‘She smells like the entire cosmetics department in Boots,’ Finn once told me. The door finally swings shut.

I call my husband in a desperate final attempt. ‘If I pick George up from school now, can I bring him into the hospital?’

‘Oh, God, what’s he done? Why are you whispering?’

‘I’m hiding from Ruby. George flushed a boy’s hood down the loo.’

‘What?’

‘He flushed a hood down the loo.’

‘He’s done WHAT?’

‘I have to get to this meeting. I can’t take George with me. Can you have him?’

‘I’ve got procedures all afternoon. Angiograms and Echo Scans. George can’t hang around in the hospital, you’ve got to be joking.’

‘Does this sound like a joke?’ I ask in a strangled voice.

‘The school can’t expect you to pick him up now. I could murder George, why did he do it? Ring them and say you can’t collect him, you’ve got a meeting.’

‘Why don’t you? A male voice might have more effect.’

‘My bleep’s gone.’ And the line goes dead.

I ring Clarky and he finally answers. My heart jumps for joy. ‘No, sorry, J, I’ve got to get to work.’

‘Please, please, please. I’ll do
anything
if you can help me out just this once?’

‘No,’ he says, surprisingly firmly. ‘You can’t always rely on me, Josie.’

You’re the only one I can rely on, I think to myself as I turn my phone off. There’s no other option. I have to go and collect George.

*

George and I enter the building through rotating glass doors but he stops dead when he’s a foot inside, gazing dreamily at the spiral staircase, the glass-walled offices with people working on their computers, the silver lifts with all their buttons. Everything is slick and polished and waiting to be explored. New places are like treasure chests to my son.

When we make it to the front desk, the receptionist is on the telephone. She’s got mousy-coloured hair that’s cut into a sharp fringe and streaked with blonde. ‘I know. I said to him that unless he was prepared to make more of an effort …’ I stand waiting. When she puts down the phone she starts typing. I find myself coughing loudly.

‘Sorry, who are you?’ She’s still not looking at me.

‘Josie Greenwood, Gem Communications. I have a meeting with Mr Allen.’ I smile politely.

‘Right, take a seat. Sorry, what did you say your name was?’ she asks again, picking up the telephone.

‘Greenwood.’

‘Can you spell that?’

‘Green and then wood.’

‘And where are you from again?’

‘Planet Zog,’ I find myself saying.

My son giggles.

‘Can you spell that?’

Is she for real?

Finally she looks at us. ‘Is he with you?’ George flicks an elastic band at her but luckily it misses. Where he got it from I don’t know. ‘Stop it,’ I tell him firmly. ‘Behave or you go back to school at once.’

‘But you’ve got a meeting. You can’t take me.’

Damn it, he’s right. ‘I’m sorry. Can we start again? I’m from Gem Communications. I did ring Mr Allen to warn him I’d be bringing my son.’

The receptionist rolls her eyes. ‘Mr Allen, Mrs Greenwood from Gem Communications is here to see you. She’s got her son with her.’

George has seen the fish tank. ‘Wow, Mum, look at the fish! Look, this one’s all on his own, the others don’t like him. I’ll be your friend, I’m going to call you Gary.’

My skin is burning with anxiety as I manage to make him sit down. There is silence for a second until George starts to spin his black leather chair round and round. ‘GEORGE! Sit still,’ I demand, grabbing the chair to try and make it stop. I hear a snap and a crunch. One of the springs must have broken.

The receptionist stares at us icily. ‘Look, why don’t you build this?’ I suggest to him. ‘I’ve got your digger here. See if you can make it before my meeting ends.’ Thank God he starts to get out the coloured Lego pieces.

Mr Allen, the Marketing Manager, comes to reception before I’ve had time to check that my designs are in order. He’s young, good-looking, dressed in jeans, trendy trainers and a smart white shirt that has been immaculately ironed and pressed. I shake hands with him. He’s wearing a smart gold watch which contrasts with the dark hair that sprouts from his wrist to either side of the strap. I apologise once more for bringing my son into work. ‘Call me Neil, please. Yes, don’t worry, a bit unconventional, but hey, we’ll let it pass just this once,’ he says with a wink. ‘Debbie, could you watch Mrs Greenwood’s son? Thanks.’

Oh, lord. Oh, lord. I might as well have told her she was a silly cow. I’m scared that she’ll drown George in the fish tank.

‘No problem, I love kids,’ she says sweetly, blushing in front of Neil.

I look at her sideways and she smiles.

‘We’ll be in the room opposite.’ We walk through the glass door and I shake hands with the Head of Communications, then the Publications Manager, and they’ve also brought in the copywriter. I feel unusually nervous as I open my portfolio and lay out my work on the long table in front of me, Gem Communications incorporated onto the top of every sheet, together with the logo of a sparkling ruby. I start my presentation.

‘What we strive to do at Gem Communications is to help established or
new
organisations define, create and evolve their brand communications across different media. Design serves a purpose: to communicate clearly, engagingly, and above all distinctively. I love impact, contrast, colour, texture, but all of it has to be there for a reason – to express you and your objectives as a company.’ Neil nods appreciatively. ‘I’ve experimented with a couple of designs and concepts. First, if you want to go down the more traditional route, I’ve done a design in serif type. The background is in a timeless navy.’ I pin the logo to a large display board.

‘I quite like that,’ comments Neil, turning to the others. From the corner of my eye I glimpse George running past the door. I have an awful feeling I saw a fish in his hand.

‘However, if you wanted to go down the more contemporary route, reflected by a fresh colour palette, then I thought the logo could be in a cool blue rather than navy and in sans serif type.’ I show the two together to illustrate the contrast.

‘I’m not sure about the cool blue, it’s cold,’ Neil starts to say. ‘I don’t think it stands out enough. Shorter lifespan too.’

‘I have done a sample of colours.’ I hear a shriek. ‘If you could excuse me, for one second?’ I suggest as they are looking at the designs.

I shut the door gently behind me before bolting down the corridor. ‘What are you doing? George!’ He’s sitting on the floor with a striped fish in his hands. He is trying to stroke it. ‘Look at it, Mum. Isn’t it sweet?’

‘George, it’s a fish!’

‘He’s called Gary. He has a name.’ The fish is slithering around in his hand.

‘Where’s Debbie gone?’

‘She said she wanted a ciggy or something.’

‘Put Gary back, NOW!’

‘The other fishes were picking on him, Mum. Pinching all his food.’

I lunge forward to try and get hold of the fish but it is so slippery that I cannot grip it properly. ‘Back in the tank, now! He needs water. You’ll kill him.’

‘I don’t want to kill him …’

I return to the meeting room. ‘We’re not sure either option really
talks
to us …’ Neil starts.

George is now pressed up against the glass door. ‘Where’s the loo?’ he mouths desperately. He’s holding his crotch.

‘Excuse me, Josie?’ Neil is staring at me.

‘I’m sorry, I missed that point. Could you just run that by me again?’ I say desperately.

‘We were saying, we weren’t convinced either option really stood out enough,’ Neil repeats. ‘We want something more dynamic? Eye-catching?’