A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon [15]
Bruce Springsteen was sounding particularly smug this evening. Jamie ejected him and read the Telegraph.
Just after eight, Tony turned up in a jovial mood, loped into the hall, bit the back of Jamie’s neck, threw himself lengthways on the sofa and began rolling a cigarette.
Jamie wondered, sometimes, if Tony had been a dog in a previous life and not quite made the transition properly. The appetite. The energy. The lack of social graces. The obsession with smells (Tony would put his nose into Jamie’s hair and inhale and say, “Ooh, where have you been?”).
Jamie slid an ashtray down to Tony’s end of the coffee table and sat down. He lifted Tony’s legs into his lap and began unlacing his boots.
He wanted to strangle Tony sometimes. The poor house-training mostly. Then he’d catch sight of him across a room and see those long legs and that brawny, farm-boy amble and feel exactly what he felt that first time. Something in the pit of his stomach, almost painful, the need to be held by this man. And no one else made him feel like that.
“Nice day at the office?” asked Tony.
“It was, actually.”
“So why the Mr. Glum vibes?”
“What Mr. Glum vibes?” asked Jamie.
“The fish mouth, the crinkly forehead.”
Jamie slumped backward into the sofa and closed his eyes. “You remember Ray…”
“Ray…?”
“Katie’s boyfriend, Ray.”
“Yu-huh.”
“She’s marrying him.”
“OK.” Tony lit his cigarette. A little strand of burning tobacco fell onto his jeans and went out. “We bundle her into a car and take her to a safe house somewhere in Gloucestershire—”
“Tony…” said Jamie.
“What?”
“Let’s try it again, all right?”
Tony held his hands up in mock-surrender. “Sorry.”
“Katie is marrying Ray,” said Jamie.
“Which is not good.”
“No.”
“So you’re going to try and stop her,” said Tony.
“She’s not in love with him,” said Jamie. “She just wants someone with a steady job and a big house who can help look after Jacob.”
“There are worse reasons for marrying someone.”
“You’d hate him,” said Jamie.
“So?” asked Tony.
“She’s my sister.”
“And you’re going to…what?” asked Tony.
“God knows.”
“This is her life, Jamie. You can’t fight off Anne Bancroft with a crucifix and drag her onto the nearest bus.”
“I’m not trying to stop her.” Jamie was starting to regret this topic of conversation. Tony didn’t know Katie. He’d never met Ray. In truth, Jamie just wanted him to say, You’re absolutely right. But Tony had never said that, to anyone, about anything. Not even when drunk. Especially not when drunk. “It’s her business. Obviously. It’s just—”
“She’s an adult,” said Tony. “She has the right to screw things up.”
Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
“So, am I invited?” Tony blew a little plume of smoke toward the ceiling.
Jamie paused a fraction of a second too long before answering, and Tony did that suspicious thing with his eyebrows. So Jamie had to change tactics on the hoof. “I’m sincerely hoping it’s not going to happen.”
“But if it does?”
There was no point fighting over this. Not now. When Jehovah’s Witnesses knocked on the door Tony invited them in for tea. Jamie took a deep breath. “Mum did mention bringing someone.”
“Someone?” said Tony. “Charming.”
“You don’t actually want to come, do you?”
“Why not?” asked Tony.
“Ray’s engineering colleagues, my mother fussing over you—”
“You’re not listening to what I’m saying, are you.” Tony took hold of Jamie’s chin and squished it, the way aunts did when you were a kid. “I would like. To come. To your sister’s wedding. With you.”
A police car tore past the end of the cul-de-sac with its siren going. Tony was still holding Jamie’s chin. Jamie said, “Let’s talk about it later, OK?”
Tony tightened his grip, pulled Jamie toward him and sniffed. “What have you been eating?”
“Choc-ice.”
“God. This thing really has depressed you, hasn’t it.”
“I threw the rest away,” said Jamie.
Tony stubbed out his cigarette. “Go and get me one.