Infidelity for Beginners (24 page)

“Not yet you don’t Ken, because you’re not staying. And
neither is Beverley. Both of you are most welcome to stop the night and drop in
and see Sally again in another week’s time but they will be flying visits and
full of cheer. It’s taken me too long to build her spirits up to sit back and
watch you blunder over them in your size nines.”

Ken started to say something but I cut him short with a
point of order. “But…”

“I’m not having you upsetting or stressing her out. She
can’t handle it, she’s too weak and I’m not going to take it, so you’re going
to have a quiet word with Beverley, then you’re both going to put on a couple
of smiles, hold your tongues and we’re going to have a lovely evening together,
because if you don’t you can both go home right now. Do you understand?”

He rubbed his face and sucked his teeth then looked at me
and frowned.

“Yes, I… I understand,” he said, almost making me feel bad
by coughing, “I’m sorry Andrew. I’m just upset and I sometimes don’t think, you
know?”

I wanted to say, “Get away,” but instead decided to draw a
line under this nonsense and be the bigger man for once.

“Ken, what say we forget this ever happened and go up and
check on Sally? I think that would really cheer her up.”

Ken nodded appreciatively.

“Whatever you say, Andrew” he agreed, waiting for me to lead
the way back into the house.

“No hard feelings?” I asked.

“Not a bit of it,” Ken insisted manfully, then brightened up
enormously and added; “And I have to say, that was one hell of a punch you
threw. One hell of a punch indeed. Have you been going to the gym or
something?”

And Ken was right, he did have to say that. After all, Ken
wasn’t the sort of man who could admit to being floored by any old average
caravan magazine editor.

We finally told mum and dad and
predictably they came straight over. They must’ve been in such a hurry that dad
somehow stood on his own jacket because he had dusty foot prints all over his
lapel, which is most unlike dad. Predictably mum cried her eyes out the moment
she saw me and I thought that was going to be that for the whole weekend, but
then Andrew must’ve said something when I went to the loo because the tears
dried up and the conversation barely went near my illness again. This is just
as well because I really didn’t want to have to go into the whole hysterectomy
thing and have mum bawling her eyes out over my failure to have kids earlier.
Actually, that’s not fair, I’m sure she wouldn’t have done that, but I’m glad
we didn’t have to go there anyway.

We had a nice tea and played Monopoly until bedtime which I
won, but only because mum, dad and Andrew all conspired to let me; mum owning
half the board but refusing to put up any hotels because she “preferred the
view without them” and dad hilariously reading my Community Chest cards and
informing me I’d won an astonishing eight beauty contests in a row (each time
with tears in his eyes). They’re going tomorrow and that makes me a little sad
because we had such a lovely time. Isn’t it strange how sometimes it takes the
worst to bring out the best in people? They tell me they’d like to come back
again next week, if that’s okay with me (extraordinary) and I’m genuinely
looking forward to it.

I finally started back at work after
God-knows how many weeks off and Norman looked almost sad to see me return. He
spent the morning talking me through all the editorial initiatives he’d
spearheaded, most of which looked like a staggering amount of extra work, then
he announced he was off to do the same to Tom’s mag, which was some consolation
at least.

Godfrey welcomed me back like a long lost father and Elenor
was unnervingly civil, brushing the last few months under carpet as if they’d
never happened. Once again I’d forgotten all about Elenor in the wake of what
was happening with Sally but it all came flooding back the moment I saw her
again and I suddenly remembered what a tricky customer she could be at times.
Still I was beyond caring to be honest, so for the sake of peace and quiet I
accepted her civility with good grace and tried to forget all about our party
incident all over again.

Rather oddly, I found a big card on my desk that had been
signed by almost everyone in the company. It was addressed to both Sally and I
and it said, “Our thoughts are with you”, which was a tad questionable when you
considered that the thought of actually posting it hadn’t occurred to any of
them. I spent a pleasant half an hour going through all the signatures and
comparing them to the internal telephone directory to see who’d signed it and
who hadn’t and found the role call was all too predictable; Rosemary, the
Xtremers
, that bloke in the post room
who’d been insisting for longer than I could remember that I owed him ten
pounds ever since Leeds had been relegated, despite the fact that I haven’t got
the faintest idea what he’s going on about, and Norman, though that last
omission was only because Norman had already sent us (as in actually posted)
his own individual card, along with an enormous bouquet of flowers and a box of
green tea.

Of those that had signed it, only three signatures included
kisses: Pauline (Norman’s secretary, who was old enough to be my mum); Adam
(our gay designer, who was young enough to be my gay lover); and Elenor (my
editorial assistant, who was once again making eyes at me from across the
partition).

“I like your hair like that,” she said, referring to the
skinhead I’d had done to show my support for Sally following the chemo. I’d
originally intended to get it all shaved off but Sally had objected, stating
that it was bad enough being bald herself without us having to walk around
looking like a pair of Hari Krishnas, so I’d opted for a grade one instead.

“Thanks,” I replied, trailing my hand across my stubbly
scalp.

“It suits you,” Elenor complemented.

“Yeah, if I didn’t know better I would’ve said you’d been
off somewhere on some secret mission fighting behind enemy lines with the SAS,”
Godfrey said, making me laugh (and swell manfully) at the idea.

“Quiet Godfrey or you’ll blow my cover,” I played along, but
Elenor wanted to play an altogether different type of game and told me again
how attractive my new haircut made me look. I decided to nip her flirting in
the bud and invented an enormous mountain of work that needed doing before she
left for the evening, which did the trick, before getting on with the chore of
sorting out my own intimidating pile of work.

Norman had done a bang-up job keeping the magazine on
course, but there were still a number of things that had fallen behind
schedule.

The worst of these was the caravan park review.

This was something I had to do every month and something
which carried the same sort of fear factor that cross country had done when I
was at school. I hated it, it was miserable and there was no way out of it.

Okay right, this was the deal. Once a month I had to get
into my car, drive to some caravan park, talk to the sub-human criminal scumbag
who managed it, take a few photos and write up a review of the place to fill a
double-page spread. Naturally, because we were
Caravan Enthusiast
and not
MacIntyre
Investigates
our reviews always had to be complementary, otherwise we
would’ve been biting that hand that fed us, so the whole exercise was doubly
distasteful. In the seven years we’d been featuring these park reviews (which
were Norman’s idea, in case you were wondering) I must’ve done more than six
dozen. Obviously, I’d started with the closest parks to the office but these
had all been covered so that every month I had to travel further and further a
field.

I set Godfrey a challenge to find us a caravan park this
side of The Wash but the closest he could manage was a place just outside
Boston, in Lincolnshire.

“Are you sure that’s the nearest one? What about that place
down in Kent you told me about a couple of months ago?”

“No, he didn’t want us to come, probably another one full of
illegals. He even threatened me on the phone and said he’d kill us if we went
anywhere near his place. Stick that in your fact box.”

“Fine, Boston it is then. Don’t forget to reserve the
digital camera this time,” I told him.

“What, you want me to come as well?” he asked in
astonishment. I stared back at Godfrey and couldn’t believe we were going to
have to go through this one again.

The park review was a two-man job. Besides driving up there,
map reading and finding it in the first place, there was a lot to do once we
were there; interview the manager, interview the guests, compile fact box
stats, general overview and snap off fifty or sixty photographs to ensure we
had enough usable images to satisfy our ultra-precious designer.

One person could do it all at a push, as indeed I had done
on a number of occasions when Godfrey’s sulks had become too unbearable to
share a car with, but I would be damned if I was going to let him off the hook
yet again when I had better things to be doing tomorrow evening myself. A trip
to Boston meant I’d be late home as it was. I wasn’t about to make myself even
later just because Godfrey didn’t want to miss
Newsround
.

“Yes Godfrey, I want you to come as well. I’m not doing it
all on my own again tomorrow and no arguments, so make sure you’re here by nine
and wearing a suit.”

“This is unbelievable!”

“No Godfrey, this is not unbelievable, this is part of your
job description.”

“I don’t think so, Andrew. You show me where it say in my
contract that I have to come in half an hour early to go to Boston.”

“Godfrey…”

“I’ll tell you what, let’s flip for it; heads or tails?”

“No, that doesn’t…”

“Fine, I’ll call. Heads. [flip] There, look see, I don’t
have to go.”

Needless to say, this argument went on all afternoon and
equally needless to say, Godfrey didn’t turn up for work the next morning. I
waited until ten o’clock in an effort to catch him sneaking in late when he
thought I might’ve already set off but Godfrey didn’t show up at all.

I tried his mobile, to no avail, and even thought about
digging out his address but Elenor told me that wouldn’t do any good.

“He’s got a job interview this morning,” she told me.
“Didn’t he tell you?”

“No.”

“Probably thought he could get away with it while you were
on park review and not have to book it off as holiday,” she grassed.

“The little bastard. Why couldn’t he have just told me
yesterday instead of letting me sit here like a duck egg half the morning
making myself even later?” I fumed, looking at my watch and screaming inside.

“Don’t know, wanker ain’t he?” Elenor speculated then added;
“Look, do you want me to come with you? I can use a camera and take notes just
as good as that virgin.”

As much as I needed the help, I wasn’t exactly bowled over
by the idea. Did I really want to spend a whole day in a car with Elenor and
all the baggage that came with that situation? If you’d asked me a few months
ago I would’ve probably looped-the-loop but now the idea just left me cold.

On the other hand, I did need someone’s assistance if I was
to get back home before nightfall and one phone call aside Elenor and I had
never really gotten the chance to clear the air, so I figured I could kill two
birds with one stone, although knowing how mischievous Elenor could be at times
I was equally aware that I could be letting myself in for a day from hell.

But then I thought, hang on a minute, what am I talking
about? A day from hell was waiting in the hospital as doctors operated on your
wife to discover the extent of her cancer. A day from hell was trying to pick
her up after she’d been told she would never fulfil her dream of motherhood. A
day from hell was every day you had to wait to find out if the chemotherapy was
working.

Sitting in a car for a few hours with a flirtatious young
colleague I was foolish enough to once lust after didn’t even come close.

“Okay Elenor, you’re on. Grab some petty cash from accounts
and the digital camera and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

*

The journey to Boston was
encouragingly uneventful. We talked about work and the telly and then about
Godfrey’s mystery job interview, and even a little about Sally, then Elenor
announced the thing we needed was music and spent the rest of the journey
playing with the radio and flipping from station to station every time a song
came on that she didn’t like. Which was every other song.

After a brief bite and a cup of tea on the A16, we found the
caravan park a little after two o’clock and got to work.

The manager was a guy called Chris who was so full of
himself that I wondered how he got into his shoes. He bored me to pieces about
his life and expanded every point almost beyond comprehension until I was ready
to uppercut all six of his chins.

“… because the thing you have to understand about natural
drainage is…”

“Actually Chris, can I stop you there?” I finally
interrupted. “That’s absolutely tons and tons of information and I’ve got to
get on.”

“No, can I just make this last point?”

“Seriously Chris, that’s more than I could use over four
articles.”

“It’s an important point young man,” he exclaimed,
incredulous at being stopped in full flow at such a crucial juncture.

“Nevertheless, I’ve really got enough,” I told him, folding
my notepad to illustrate this fact.

Chris wasn’t to be deterred and carried on regardless, as if
the meat of his point would somehow rekindle my interest and cause me to phone
the repro house to “stop the presses”. Alas, there wasn’t any meat to his
point. In fact, he barely had a point. He just wanted to moan about his job and
savour the experience of having someone listen to him for a change.