only joking. Freak. Anyway, Rupert pushed Ben over during the nativity play which upset the manger, and baby Jesus landed on his head causing tears and pandemonium, obviously … And he also poured powder paint into the sandpit and blamed it on Ben. Ben said he was frightened of him. That he didn’t want to be Rupert’s friend. He was upset in case he did it again. So I spoke to the teacher about it.’
‘And?’
‘The teacher said that she thought it was, God … six of one and half a dozen of the other. You know, all mealy-mouthed. Like she’s got any idea what went on.’
‘It could be …’
‘What, like Ben’s called Rupert’s father a bad man? And his mummy a bitch? Yeah … reckon you could be right there.’
‘Not Ben’s style is it?’
‘Well not unless he’s changed dramatically into some completely different child in the last week. I don’t think so … Anyway, who cares if people think you’re a bad man? You are , but I object to being called a bitch.’
‘Juliet!’
‘Seriously, Alex. We can’t allow this bullying. And don’t start telling me it’s bloody well character-building, because it isn’t. You of all people should know that.’ The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of the babysitter. Juliet throws on her dark mink jacket.
‘The Hunts are going to be there tonight.’
‘So we could have some fun, then.’
Juliet doesn’t answer, but just shrugs, and lets in Louise, the sitter. She gives her the low-down on Ben, what’s in the fridge, checks she’s got mobile numbers, landline numbers of where they’re going – actually it’s only across the road – and then says sweetly to Alex: ‘Come on, honey. Let’s go and see the nice people at the lovely party.’
CHAPTER
4
They walk up the road together, but apart. Juliet is huddled into her jacket with her head down, and Alex has been thinking. He is becoming angry. His son is not the kind of kid who’s going to be intimidated by other people. And he is also very angry that any man could think he could help himself to what is his. ‘Did he really … Marcus … stick his hand up your skirt?’
‘Yeah. It’s what men do … pissed men. But they don’t do it a second time … not unless I ask them to. Anyway, Marcus gropes everyone, not just me. And don’t forget what Caroline was like at that dinner – I thought she was going to have you for pudding. And you fucking well encouraged her. Though God knows why.’
Alex grabs her collar. Pulls her towards him and clamps his mouth onto hers.
When he releases her she says: ‘God, Alex, you’ll have ruined my bloody lip gloss – and it’s all over your mouth, you twit.’ Alex wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s sticky and smells of toffee. He grabs Juliet’s hand and hangs on to it. Her stiletto heels with their metal tips clip-clip-clip on the paving stones, and then change timbre as they step onto the tarmac to cross the road, and he can hear the South Circular humming away in the background. The curtains at number 94 are open and a gaggle of people can be seen laughing and mouthing to each other, soundproofed by the double glazing.
‘Look at the size of that fuck-off wreath,’ Juliet says. ‘Must have cost a fortune.’
‘Ostentatious – and a waste of money. Only gets chucked away. Like bloody Christmas trees. They’ll be a hundred quid soon, and they’re in the house for what – two weeks?’
‘You’re so parsimonious. If you feel that strongly why don’t we have an artificial one?’
They have the same discussion every Christmas.
‘You know I’d never have an artificial tree in the house.’
They push the door open and immediately they can hear the tinny sound of a Christmas compilation providing background festive moodery. ‘ Do they know it’s Christmas time … ’ An ear worm has been spinning the same track in his head all day; he just can’t get away from the bloody thing. He sees that there is a man in a
‘And?’
‘The teacher said that she thought it was, God … six of one and half a dozen of the other. You know, all mealy-mouthed. Like she’s got any idea what went on.’
‘It could be …’
‘What, like Ben’s called Rupert’s father a bad man? And his mummy a bitch? Yeah … reckon you could be right there.’
‘Not Ben’s style is it?’
‘Well not unless he’s changed dramatically into some completely different child in the last week. I don’t think so … Anyway, who cares if people think you’re a bad man? You are , but I object to being called a bitch.’
‘Juliet!’
‘Seriously, Alex. We can’t allow this bullying. And don’t start telling me it’s bloody well character-building, because it isn’t. You of all people should know that.’ The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of the babysitter. Juliet throws on her dark mink jacket.
‘The Hunts are going to be there tonight.’
‘So we could have some fun, then.’
Juliet doesn’t answer, but just shrugs, and lets in Louise, the sitter. She gives her the low-down on Ben, what’s in the fridge, checks she’s got mobile numbers, landline numbers of where they’re going – actually it’s only across the road – and then says sweetly to Alex: ‘Come on, honey. Let’s go and see the nice people at the lovely party.’
CHAPTER
4
They walk up the road together, but apart. Juliet is huddled into her jacket with her head down, and Alex has been thinking. He is becoming angry. His son is not the kind of kid who’s going to be intimidated by other people. And he is also very angry that any man could think he could help himself to what is his. ‘Did he really … Marcus … stick his hand up your skirt?’
‘Yeah. It’s what men do … pissed men. But they don’t do it a second time … not unless I ask them to. Anyway, Marcus gropes everyone, not just me. And don’t forget what Caroline was like at that dinner – I thought she was going to have you for pudding. And you fucking well encouraged her. Though God knows why.’
Alex grabs her collar. Pulls her towards him and clamps his mouth onto hers.
When he releases her she says: ‘God, Alex, you’ll have ruined my bloody lip gloss – and it’s all over your mouth, you twit.’ Alex wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s sticky and smells of toffee. He grabs Juliet’s hand and hangs on to it. Her stiletto heels with their metal tips clip-clip-clip on the paving stones, and then change timbre as they step onto the tarmac to cross the road, and he can hear the South Circular humming away in the background. The curtains at number 94 are open and a gaggle of people can be seen laughing and mouthing to each other, soundproofed by the double glazing.
‘Look at the size of that fuck-off wreath,’ Juliet says. ‘Must have cost a fortune.’
‘Ostentatious – and a waste of money. Only gets chucked away. Like bloody Christmas trees. They’ll be a hundred quid soon, and they’re in the house for what – two weeks?’
‘You’re so parsimonious. If you feel that strongly why don’t we have an artificial one?’
They have the same discussion every Christmas.
‘You know I’d never have an artificial tree in the house.’
They push the door open and immediately they can hear the tinny sound of a Christmas compilation providing background festive moodery. ‘ Do they know it’s Christmas time … ’ An ear worm has been spinning the same track in his head all day; he just can’t get away from the bloody thing. He sees that there is a man in a
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