Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [28]
‘The summer solstice,’ she explained. ‘That’s the first day of summer, I think.’
‘No,’ I said, riffling through the Filofax to find the incriminating page. ‘That. What does that mean?’
I thought confronting my mother with evidence of her adultery would be dramatic, but it was nothing of the sort. ‘I love Steve, we love each other. I thought you knew that.’
I genuinely couldn’t believe how blasé she was being. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘We’ve been together for a while. Why do you think he’s always here?’
‘To decorate,’ I said truthfully.
I’m so glad we dug up this photo. Here is Steve, rag-rolling his way into my mother’s heart.
My mum chose to downplay the gravity of the situation. Either that or she was so in love with the builder that she was blissfully unaware that she was married with two kids. I thought for a moment that maybe these avant-garde painting techniques were responsible for my mother’s seduction. She did seem to be in a trance-like state. Maybe she was just Steve’s latest victim, and he was some kind of decorating Derren Brown using a combination of rag-rolling, stencilling and marbling in a series of gaudy colours to hypnotize housewives.
My memories of our final days in Hampstead are not only hazy, but also confused by the fact that a lot was kept from Lucy and me to ‘protect’ us. This was a messy divorce with kids involved, and I was one of the kids. My dad came back from America to a strange and hostile environment. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for my father. A man’s first instinct when he learns his wife is cheating on him is to attack the other man. ‘Who is it? Where is he?’ Unfortunately in this instance, it was Steve, the iron-chested builder. My dad could have punched Steve repeatedly in the stomach, and Steve wouldn’t have even noticed – he would have just carried on rag-rolling while listening to his Sony Walkman. Your partner cheating on you is bad enough. If she cheats on you with a bigger man, it’s the worst-case scenario. What are you supposed to do when you catch them together? ‘Hey, that’s my wife. Get off her or I’ll hit you, and then you’ll hit me and I’ll be hospitalized.’
What if your partner cheats on you with a hero of yours? At the time of writing John Terry has just lost his England captaincy for alleged adultery. But what if he was sleeping with the wife of a Chelsea season ticket holder who proudly wears a John Terry replica shirt, and it’s days before the European Cup Final? What would be the husband’s reaction then? Initially he would be shocked and angered by the infidelity of his wife before noticing his idol in his bed. ‘How could you do it this to me, you fu— There’s only one John Terry, one John Teeeeery, there’s only one John Terry. Look who it is, love, it’s JT!’
‘I know, I’m having sex with him.’
‘You all right, JT? Can I get you some water or something? He’s got the final on Wednesday night, so you should go on top, love. He’s got to save his energy. Careful, darling, mind his metatarsal, that’s six weeks out, that is.’
The marriage was over. They weren’t happy. My dad was working hard, my mum was playing hard, and when they were together they were arguing hard. They were from different generations and the gap was never going to close. A friend of my mum said to her at the time of the separation, ‘Children grow up and leave home, and that’s all you’re doing.’
My grandmother was thrilled to learn that the marriage was over and swigged from a glass of fine champagne. ‘Daarling, you are doing the right thing, he vas no gud for you. Start egen, I vill help you vith money.’ Then my mum told her about Steve. She choked, vintage champagne spluttered from her mouth and through her nose ‘Vot? The builder? I’m feeling faint, Jim, Jim, get my pills …’
I haven’t really gone into much detail about Grandma’s rich husband Jim. For all his business prowess and swollen bank account, he was very much a secondary figure in my grandmother’s home. He acted and looked like a butler, very English, very proper, very upright. He occasionally smirked or scowled,