Infidelity for Beginners (23 page)

It reminded me of when I was little and I first realised my
parents were going to die. There I was happily tucked up in bed with Winnie the
Pooh under one arm and a plastic M16 under the other. I’d had a great dinner of
chicken dippers and alphabetti spaghetti and got to stay up late watching Dave
Allen, but all of a sudden all I could do was cry. Why? Because for some
unknown reason it had suddenly occurred to me that the big, wonderful lady and
strong, reliable man downstairs weren’t always going to be around for me. In
fact, one day both of them were going to die and this wasn’t an if or a maybe,
this was an absolute definite.

One day mum and dad were going to die.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do about that
except worry, panic and cry until I heard the thump-thump-thump of reassuring
footsteps on the stairs.

But there were no reassuring footsteps on the stairs for me
these days because now I was those reassuring footsteps. And it was my turn to
go thump-thump-thumping up the stairs to answer the sounds of crying.

I unburdened as much as I could on Tom, first of all at his
place and later at Camberley Leisure Centre while we both trod water (part of
Tom’s rehabilitation), but for most of the time these thoughts were mine to
fret over alone.

So I did what I could to keep them from my mind and found
that the best way was to fill my mind and my days with positive action.

Because unlike my parents, it wasn’t right that Sally should
die before me. And not just because she was younger, healthier and had Mother
Nature’s three year bonus that women always got over us men, but because there
were
things that could be done;
practical things. And by me. I might not have been a doctor, I might not have
been a radiographer and, as my old friend at Frimley Park had correctly pointed
out, I certainly wasn’t a nurse, but I could still help all the same. He was
right about that, just as he’d been right about everything.

And so that’s what I did; I helped. Or at least, I tried to.
And the more I did, the more I found there was to do. And the more I found
there was to do, the more it felt like I was actually helping. And the more it
felt like I was helping, the further I was able to pack those awful unthinkable
thoughts back into the shadowy corners of my brain.

So I dedicated my days to doing what I could and I made this
my routine.

Though more accurately it could better be described as my
therapy.

I’m now completely bald and pastier
than I’ve ever been in my life. I look like a deflated Michelin Man and feel
like one too. When the doctors warned me about hair loss, I thought they were
just talking about my head, I didn’t realise they meant
all
of my hair. But that’s exactly what’s been disappearing down
the plug each this week, and a pink and peculiar version of myself it’s left
behind. Still, as Andrew is constantly trying to drum into me, you have to put
a positive spin on everything, so here goes:

Take two bottles into the shower? Not me, I just use a
chamois leather. And how wonderful it is not to have to shave my legs or
armpits anymore. What a chore that had become! My legs are now naturally silky
smooth, if a little knobbly around the knees, and my pits are stubble free. As
for my eyebrows, I no longer have to pluck, I simply erase and redraw until
they reflect my mood, although I need to get a lot speedier with the pencil if
I’m going to convince people with my look of surprise.

And my bikini line? Well, I guess Andrew finally gets one of
his kinkier wishes after all.

One of the trickier aspects of
Sally’s illness was what to do about her parents. Sally had been reluctant to
say anything before her surgery because she’d been hoping to waylay the
inevitable “all hands to the panic pumps” with reassurances that everything was
fine and that the cancer had been dealt with and that it had only been a minor
scare and that there was no harm done and lots of good news etc etc etc –
but unfortunately, as things turned out, everything wasn’t fine, and the cancer
hadn’t been dealt with, and it hadn’t turned out to be a minor scare, and there
was considerable harm done, and the resultant news was anything but good.

Which threw up a difficult dilemma.

How did we break it to Ken and Beverley that their little
girl was undergoing treatment for a life-threatening illness without the pair
of them running all the way over here to set up base camp in our spare bedroom?

It was a delicate one. And a situation both Sally and I were
desperate to avoid.

I mean, she was ill and stressed enough without having to
cope with her parents as well. I don’t mean that in a horrible way but the fact
of the matter was it was true. Parents bring stress.

See, left to Ken and Beverley, Sally would immediately have
her adult status revoked and be demoted to fragile little princess again, to be
bossed, bullied and mothered beyond sanity and told to drink her cancer
medicine and eat her greens “like a good little girl and no arguments young
missy, you do as you’re told”.

It was the nightmare scenario. But what could we do? Sally
couldn’t very well go on telling her parents she was fine indefinitely because
sooner or later they were likely to want to come over and see us (or rather
her). In fact, a Nicholas invasion was long overdue and Sally was now bald as a
tin hat and as pale as parchment. That dreaded phone call had to be made and
once it was, how would we ever get rid of them again?

“Righto, well thanks
for coming over but Sally’s a bit tired now so perhaps it’s best if you both
said cheerio.”

“Say Cheerio? Oh no no
no, we’re staying. We’re not going anywhere while our little girl needs us,”
they would reply.

“Mum, I’m not a
little…”

“Quiet now Sally, you
just relax and let Mummy take care of you.”

“Mum please…”

“Sally, do as your
mother tells you, she knows best, you know?”

“No, just listen…”

“Sally, that’s quite
enough. And as for you Andrew, you can go. We’ll take it from here.”

“Hey?”

“She was fine while
she was with us, but a few years of being married to you and you’ve gone and
given her cancer. So you can just bloody well go and… er, Andrew?”

“Yes Ken?”

“Where did you get
that shotgun from?”

“Superb shooting
darling. What now?”

“We could get some
more shells and give Norman a quick ring if you liked.”

BANG BANG!

“Hmm?”

BANG BANG!

“Andrew, are you going to get that?”

“What?”

“There’s somebody at the door.”

BANG BANG!

“Oh, oh yeah, sorry, miles away. Just going love.”

I hung the last pair of Sally’s pants on the radiator and
put the washing basket away under the stairs before heading up the hall to see
who was laying siege to our front door.

BANG BANG BANG!

“Yes all right, hold your horses, I’m just coming,” I called
out, although this just encouraged the banging even more and when I opened the
door I found an ashen-faced Ken and a frantic Beverley staring at me in
white-eyed horror holding their suitcases.

“My God, where is she?” Beverley screamed.

I barely had time to get my thumb pointing in the direction
of the stairs before she was steamrollering passed me and sprinting for the
bedroom.

“We came as soon as we could,” Ken told me.

“You’re not kidding are you?” I replied, checking my watch
and doing a few mental calculations.

“We couldn’t stay away,” he informed me.

“Did you even try?”

“Upstairs is she?”

“Yes, I’ve been locking her in the attic because she looks
so horrendous.”

“That’s not nice Andrew. I hope you don’t let Sally hear you
saying things like that.”

“No, I promise, around Sally I just wring my hands with
despair and wail about how terrible it all is and save the jokes for the boys
down the pub.”

“Are you even taking this seriously? Our little girl’s got
cancer and she needs…”

That was it. And in record quick time too. Something snapped
inside me and I went all the way with it.

“What Ken, what? What does she need? Go on, do tell me what
because this is obviously something I haven’t given any thought to. So go on,
come round to my house and stand in my hallway and tell me what my wife needs.
Go on, I dare you because I’d love to hear it.”

Ken stared at me with uncertainty in his eyes. Being a
boardroom big wig I doubted anyone had spoken to him like this for a good few
years. I certainly hadn’t so he was momentarily lost for words. But he soon
found them again and sure enough told me I’d better watch my step.

“Now, you listen here… Andrew, I couldn’t give a monkey’s
about you or anything you have to say. All I care about is that little girl up
there and if you…”

Forget snapped, I exploded.

“Right, I’ve had enough of this already,” I said, grabbing
Ken by the scruff of the neck and pointing him in the direction of the road.
“Out you go.”

“What are you doing? What are you doing?” he countered,
trying to prise my hand away from his collar only to trip over his own legs. I
managed to sustain his tumble until we were through my garden gate and next to
his car, then I dumped him over the bonnet.

“What the hell…”

“In the car or in the house, it’s your decision? In the car,
you’re the fellow in charge, but in the house, I’m the fellow in charge and
what I say goes. And that applies to both you and Beverley.”

“You can’t…”

“Yes I can and yes I am. Now I don’t give a monkey’s about
you either. In fact, you are quite possibly the biggest wanker I’ve ever met in
my entire life. But I do love your daughter and right now yours and Beverley’s
bullshit is the last thing she needs. And I won’t tolerate either of you
annoying or upsetting her, do you hear me Ken? So here it is, you’re either
here to help or you’re gone. Both of you.”

“Of course we’re here to bloody help…”

“Then repeat after me; ‘I know nothing’.”

“What are you talking about?”

I wagged my finger in his face and shook my head. “No Ken;
‘I know nothing’.”

“I’m not putting up with this nonsense.”

“Ken, I’m going to give you five chances to get it, then you
and Beverley are gone; now say it; ‘I know nothing’.” Ken told me not speak to
him that way then tried to barge past me again but I stepped in his way to
block his path.

“‘I know nothing’,” I demanded, refusing to budge.

“Get out of the way,” he shouted.

“I know nothing!”

“I’ll knock you into next week you little bastard, then
you’ll know nothing at all!” Ken shouted, blood corpuscles popping all over his
face as he tried to shove me aside. But I had a strength I couldn’t believe
coursing through my veins and I managed to hold him back from the gate. “Get
out of my way!”

“
I… know… nothing
.”

“Get…”

You know what, there’s just no talking to some people. All
Ken wanted and all Ken could see was getting past me and inflicting himself on
Sally, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t and wasn’t about to let that happen, especially
in his indignant self-righteous extremes and in the ensuing scuffle I ended up
‘accidentally’ punching him in the gob.

That’s right – me. Unbelievable. I punched my
father-in-law in the gob.

I lived the dream.

Ken went down onto one knee and I debated for about half a
second whether or not to finish the job with the watering can nearby, but I
reasoned that probably wouldn’t help Sally, so I saved it for another day and
gave him a shove to put him on his back.

Ken tried to get back up but I stopped his progress with a
foot. “Get off of me. Get off of me!” he coughed angrily, lashing out and
trying to drag me down on top of him, but I managed to cling onto the car to
keep myself from joining him on the pavement. What the neighbours must have
thought, I have no idea.

“You’re just not listening are you Ken? You’re just not
listening at all. Ken? HELLO! This isn’t about you and this isn’t about me,
this is only about
Sally
.”

At this, he stopped struggling and let go of my shins.

“I don’t want to do this, I really don’t, but I can’t let
you go in there with your attitude because you will kill her in three weeks.
You really will and you just don’t seem to understand this, do you, because you
won’t fucking listen!”

This finally got his attention and Ken blinked a couple of
times, swallowed hard, then told me, “okay. Okay, I’m listening”.

“I know nothing?” I asked him, double-checking that his
surrender really was complete and unconditional.

“I… I know nothing,” Ken reluctantly repeated.

I stepped back and offered him my hand, half-expecting him
to slap it away and come back at me with all guns blazing but Ken didn’t try
anything.

He really had finally got it.

“Everything I say and everything I do is purely in the
interests of Sally,” I told him, hauling him to his feet. “I have poured over
books, I have read up on this. I have searched the internet and talked to
doctors and people in her support group and her counsellors and experts, so
please open your ears and shut your gob. If I pour her a weird cup of tea that
smells horrible instead of a nice cup of Earl Grey, that’s because it’s good
for her. If I make her a dinner that looks like something you wouldn’t want to
step in, that’s because that’s good for her. And if I make light of her
condition in front of her in order to put a smile on her face, then that’s
because that’s good for her too.”

“Yes,” Ken blanched. “Yes I see that now.”