A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon [38]
Turning the lights off to shower and change was plain common sense. And with the exception of the evening when Jean had marched into the bathroom, flicked on the light and screamed when she found him toweling himself in the dark, it was easy enough to do.
The red wine doubtless ran contrary to all medical advice but two or three glasses of that Ridgemont Cabernet did wonders for his mental equilibrium.
Thinking of something else was the most difficult task on the list. He would be cutting his toenails, or oiling a pair of shears, and it would loom from the undertow like a dark silhouette in a shark movie. When he was in town it was possible to distract himself by glancing sideways at an attractive young lady and imagining her naked. But he encountered few attractive young ladies in the course of his average day. If he had been more brazen and lived alone he might have purchased pornographic magazines. But he was not brazen and Jean was a scrupulous cleaner of nooks. So he settled for the crossword.
It was talking, however, which was the revelation. Little did he know that by sorting out the inside of his head he would add new life to his marriage. Not that it was dull or loveless. Far from it. They got on with one another a good deal better than many couples of their acquaintance who put up with a life of low-level sniping and bad-tempered silences simply because it was easier than separating. He and Jean bickered rarely, thanks largely to his own powers of self-restraint. But they did have silences.
So it was a pleasant surprise to find that he could say what was on his mind and have Jean respond with often interesting comments. Indeed there were evenings when this kind of conversation gave him such profound relief that he felt as if he were falling in love with her all over again.
A couple of weeks after embarking on his self-imposed regime George got a phone call from Brian.
“Gail’s mother’s here for a fortnight. So I thought I’d head down to the cottage. Make sure the builders have done their job. Wondered if you fancied joining me. It’ll be a bit primitive. Camp beds, sleeping bags. But you’re a hardy chap.”
Ordinarily he would not have wanted to spend more than a couple of hours in his brother’s company. But there was something boyish and excited in his voice. He sounded like a nine-year-old eager to show off his new tree house. And the thought of a long train journey, windy walks along the Helford and pints around the fire in the local pub was rather appealing.
He could take a sketchbook. And that big Peter Ackroyd Jean had given him for Christmas.
“I’ll come.”
28
Jamie vacuumed the carpets and cleaned the bathroom. He thought briefly about washing the cushion covers but, frankly, Tony wouldn’t notice if they were covered in mud.
The following afternoon he cut short the visit to the Creighton Avenue flats, rang the office to say he could be contacted on his mobile, then went home via Tesco’s.
Salmon, then strawberries. Enough to show he’d made an effort but not enough to make him feel too fat for sex. He put a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé in the fridge and a vase of tulips on the dining table.
He felt stupid. He was getting worked up about losing Katie, and doing nothing to hang on to the most important person in his life.
He and Tony should be living together. He should be coming home to lit windows and the sound of unfamiliar music. He should be lying in bed on Saturday mornings, smelling bacon and hearing the clink of crockery through the wall.
He was going to take Tony to the wedding. All that bollocks about provincial bigotry. It was himself he was scared of. Getting old. Making choices.