Page 2 of Hard Tail
“Tim?” I jumped a little as Kate spoke, peering around the door as if it might not be safe to come in immediately.
“Expecting someone else?” I quipped weakly, because all this uncharacteristic timidity was starting to worry me.
“No! No, don’t be silly—who else would I be expecting?” Kate was still as neat as ever in her pale blue business suit, chosen to match her eyes. She came into the room in little, bird-like steps and perched on the sofa next to me, smoothing down her skirt.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No—well, yes, actually. Tim, I’m so sorry.” She was about to cry, I realised with a shock; I could tell by the little sniffs and the way her eyelids were fluttering like a hummingbird on acid.
“Kate, what is it?” I was seriously alarmed now. Had her dad had another heart attack? Had she lost her job too?
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “But I’m moving out. I’m going to live with—” She hiccupped, and I wondered if I should pat her back. Maybe it would be politer just to pretend I hadn’t noticed.
Then I wondered why good manners seemed to be my main concern at a time like this.
“I can’t live a lie any longer. Alexander and I have been getting, well, closer—and I’m going to live with him.” She looked up at me almost defiantly, but it only lasted a moment. Her slim fingers kneaded one another savagely, and I noticed she’d taken off her wedding ring and the engagement ring I’d given her. It had always seemed too big and clumsy for her hands, but apparently that would now no longer be a problem. “You must hate me,” she whispered, looking down once more.
“No! No, of course I don’t,” I said, struggling to work out just how I actually felt. I wasn’t sure I feltanythingright now—apart from a strange disconnect, a numbness spreading out from my core. Hate her? We didn’t really do strong feelings like that.
I did hate it when she cried, though. Always had. I put my arm around her, which turned out to be a big mistake. She burst into huge, ugly sobs and buried her head in my shoulder. I patted her back—I had a fairly good idea pretending not to notice would, in the circumstances, be the polar opposite of good manners. What the hell were you supposed to say in these situations? “There, there,” just didn’t seem to cut it, somehow. “It’ll be all right,” was what I went with in the end.
It might have been trite but it had one positive effect—Kate stopped soaking my shoulder and looked up with an expression of outrage only slightly ruined by runny mascara. Thank God I wasn’t wearing a favourite shirt. That stuff never comes out. “How can you even do this? God, it’s just so unfair! Here you are,comfortingme—and I’m about to—” She dissolved into tears once more.
“There, there,” I said helplessly. Suddenly remembering I had a handkerchief, and it was even reasonably clean, I passed it to her. “Come on, have a good blow.”
She blew her nose in that quiet way women seem to manage—I always sound like an elephant attempting the Last Post—and gave me a brave little smile. “It’s just—everything’s happened at once. You being made redundant, and then, well…”
“Alexander,” I supplied, in case all the emotion had made her temporarily forget the name of the bloke she was leaving me for. Alex was a friend of mine, as it happened. Blond, where I was dark; short and chunky, while I was tall and on the lean side; down-to-earth and Northern while I was…not. I wondered if her subconscious was trying to make a point.
I’d always been pleased with how well they got on together.
“I never meant to hurt you,” she sobbed, teardrops leaving blotches on her dry-clean-only skirt. I considered sliding theFTonto her lap to catch them, but newsprint would only have made a worse mess. Best to leave it.
“You haven’t hurt me,” I said, not quite truthfully. Let’s face it, even if you’ve accepted that your marriage was a total mistake, having your wife run off with another bloke is going to be bad for the ego. But I didn’t blame her for looking elsewhere for what I couldn’t give her. I blamed myself for being so bloody determined to keep my head stuck in the sand.
“I hope one day you’ll find someone who deserves you,” Kate said, sniffing.
I shrugged, wondering bleakly if that would be a good or a bad thing, if it ever happened.
Kate gave her nose one last snuffly little blow and picked up the bag she’d packed before coming back downstairs. I wondered if I should offer to carry it to the car, or if that’d be taken as an insult. It didn’t look heavy, so I left her to it. I guessed she’d be back with my dear old mate Alex for the rest of her stuff later.
I thought about dropping some hints as to when I’d be out over the next few days but couldn’t muster the energy. Or think of anywhere I’d go, come to that.
She turned her head to give me one last, sorrowful glance as she stepped through the door, then paused as something struck her. “Oh—and by the way, your mother rang.”
It never rains but it pours.
***
My mother never rings me. Never.
She rings my brother, Jay. I know this, because I asked him once. I ringherevery couple of weeks or so, because I feel guilty if I don’t, but she never seems that pleased to hear from me. Most of the time is usually spent talking about Jay—his latest money-making scheme, his latest girlfriend, whatever. She always finishes up by saying, “Well, at least I don’t have to worry aboutyou.” And then she makes this sort oftsknoise under her breath, as if the lack of worry is just one more way I’ve been a disappointment to her.
So if Mum had rung, it must be something serious. A chill ran through me. Dad had been complaining for years about pains in his chest, but the doctor had always sworn blind it was just indigestion. What if this time she was wrong? I grabbed the phone and perched on the arm of the sofa to make the call.
“Mum?”
“Timothy! It’s about time you rang.”
