crap at family stuff. I avoid holding babies like the plague.' He raised a large hand and stared at it, the knuckles peppered with scars and cuts from rugby studs. 'Tiny little things, just keeping you awake for months on end. I'd probably hate it. And there's my job – the hours I work. Nights and all that. It would really screw things up.'
'I'd love to start a family.'
Now Jon was stunned. 'You're serious?'
Tom's eyes dropped to his drink and when he spoke there was a melancholy note in his voice. 'Absolutely. Something's kind of shifted in me lately. It's all part of this plan to get out of the city and move to Cornwall.'
'You're getting broody.'
Tom smiled regretfully. 'I am. I admit it. But it's the last thing that Charlotte wants.'
Jon plucked a cigarette from Tom's pack and leaned forward a fraction. 'You've discussed it?' He touched a flame to its tip, listening to the tiny crackles as he took a deep drag. Tom shook his head. 'There's no need to. It couldn't be more obvious.'
'You know, when you two got married, it took me totally by surprise.'
Tom looked up. 'I know what you're thinking. Tom the shag monster.'
Jon laughed.
'But I tell you, the first time I saw her in the ad agency where she was the receptionist... fuck, my mouth filled up with saliva. I couldn't get my eyes off her body.' He stared into space. 'I went through the entire meeting on autopilot. As soon as it ended I was at the reception desk making up some bollocks reason to use their fax machine. Honestly Jon, if you gave me nude photos of every female film star and said put together your perfect woman, I couldn't do better than Charlotte.'
'And had you actually spoken to her by the time you'd decided that?'
Tom didn't even register the joke, and Jon groaned inwardly at how precarious the basis of their relationship must be. But then Nikki Kingston's face appeared in his mind. 'I know what you mean when the sight of someone just makes you go...' he snapped his fingers. 'There's this woman I work with sometimes. A crime scene manager. We flirt around a bit, but more and more I'm...' He shook his head.
Tom tapped a finger on the table. 'Don't even go there, Jon. What you've got with Alice – don't risk that for a quick shove.' He swept up their empties and returned a minute later with two fresh pints. 'You know what I really miss about rugby?' he announced, sitting down.
Jon acknowledged the switch in conversation by sitting up and grinding out his cigarette.
'The pain.'
Jon took a long sip and placed his pint on the table. 'Go on,' he said.
Tom slid a cigarette from the pack, picked up the lighter and put both elbows on the table. 'Thing is, the way the world has got today, it's too easy to forget what it's really like to be alive. You get up, go to work, sit at a desk, go home, sit down and watch TV, go to bed. Maybe you visit a gym once or twice a week. Our lives are so cocooned and predictable. I look at people and think we've become so safe, we're all half asleep. Trudging around our daily business, living in our artificial environment. Know what I mean?' he concluded, lighting up.
Jon remained silent for a second. 'That's what I like about getting pissed with you,' he suddenly said, affection flooding his voice. 'Football? Women? Films? Yeah, they're worth covering. But you always drop in some big psychological point.'
Tom grinned at him. 'But you still play,' he said. 'When I think of the adrenaline surge I used to get on the pitch ... At the time you don't realize how immune you are to the knocks, the impacts, getting stamped all over in a ruck. You get so into the match you don't feel it until afterwards. And that pain is a reminder that you've been out there, that you're actually alive. If I went out and played tomorrow, the first tackle would have me hobbling. I've gone soft. And this life I lead has made me that way.'
Jon nodded. 'But you're talking about our lives which, comparatively speaking, are very safe and
'I'd love to start a family.'
Now Jon was stunned. 'You're serious?'
Tom's eyes dropped to his drink and when he spoke there was a melancholy note in his voice. 'Absolutely. Something's kind of shifted in me lately. It's all part of this plan to get out of the city and move to Cornwall.'
'You're getting broody.'
Tom smiled regretfully. 'I am. I admit it. But it's the last thing that Charlotte wants.'
Jon plucked a cigarette from Tom's pack and leaned forward a fraction. 'You've discussed it?' He touched a flame to its tip, listening to the tiny crackles as he took a deep drag. Tom shook his head. 'There's no need to. It couldn't be more obvious.'
'You know, when you two got married, it took me totally by surprise.'
Tom looked up. 'I know what you're thinking. Tom the shag monster.'
Jon laughed.
'But I tell you, the first time I saw her in the ad agency where she was the receptionist... fuck, my mouth filled up with saliva. I couldn't get my eyes off her body.' He stared into space. 'I went through the entire meeting on autopilot. As soon as it ended I was at the reception desk making up some bollocks reason to use their fax machine. Honestly Jon, if you gave me nude photos of every female film star and said put together your perfect woman, I couldn't do better than Charlotte.'
'And had you actually spoken to her by the time you'd decided that?'
Tom didn't even register the joke, and Jon groaned inwardly at how precarious the basis of their relationship must be. But then Nikki Kingston's face appeared in his mind. 'I know what you mean when the sight of someone just makes you go...' he snapped his fingers. 'There's this woman I work with sometimes. A crime scene manager. We flirt around a bit, but more and more I'm...' He shook his head.
Tom tapped a finger on the table. 'Don't even go there, Jon. What you've got with Alice – don't risk that for a quick shove.' He swept up their empties and returned a minute later with two fresh pints. 'You know what I really miss about rugby?' he announced, sitting down.
Jon acknowledged the switch in conversation by sitting up and grinding out his cigarette.
'The pain.'
Jon took a long sip and placed his pint on the table. 'Go on,' he said.
Tom slid a cigarette from the pack, picked up the lighter and put both elbows on the table. 'Thing is, the way the world has got today, it's too easy to forget what it's really like to be alive. You get up, go to work, sit at a desk, go home, sit down and watch TV, go to bed. Maybe you visit a gym once or twice a week. Our lives are so cocooned and predictable. I look at people and think we've become so safe, we're all half asleep. Trudging around our daily business, living in our artificial environment. Know what I mean?' he concluded, lighting up.
Jon remained silent for a second. 'That's what I like about getting pissed with you,' he suddenly said, affection flooding his voice. 'Football? Women? Films? Yeah, they're worth covering. But you always drop in some big psychological point.'
Tom grinned at him. 'But you still play,' he said. 'When I think of the adrenaline surge I used to get on the pitch ... At the time you don't realize how immune you are to the knocks, the impacts, getting stamped all over in a ruck. You get so into the match you don't feel it until afterwards. And that pain is a reminder that you've been out there, that you're actually alive. If I went out and played tomorrow, the first tackle would have me hobbling. I've gone soft. And this life I lead has made me that way.'
Jon nodded. 'But you're talking about our lives which, comparatively speaking, are very safe and
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